Dead Opportunities: Books 1 & 2 & 3
by Hoobajoo
Summary: As the undead plague engulfs the world, a man with a bitter past unleashes a pent up evil in the name of survival. Updated 14/8/09. CH 8 up: Craig and Polanda catch up on ol' times and plan what to do.
1. Resurrection

**Author's note: Dead Opportunities is going through a complete re-write at the moment. New chapters have slowed daramatically whilst I do this. I am taking this task quite seriously to inflate the first Book from 65K words to closer to 100k and preparing it as a proper manuscript for consideration by an agent or even to publish it on my own website. I think the new chapters are much more polished and deeper than they were before, delving into Craig's mind much more to help you understand him and the action is more graphic and gripping.**

**I still intend for Dead Opportunities to be a Trilogy. I have many ideas in the back of my mind and I need to restruture Book I to better fit into the continuity. The ending of Book I is likely to change and more characters will feature.**

**I** **would very much appreciate any reviews with regards to these new chapters and I will likely re-write them and polish them again at a later stage. ****Many thanks to all who have given their patronage to my work and left reviews and comments. They are very important to me and I give them my utmost attention.**

**Kind regards,**

**Hoobajoo**

**CHAPTER 1 (re-written)**

"Get up." Craig waved the pistol towards the open doorway.

"Please, man, don't-"

"Shut up." He barked coldly, waving the pistol again as the groggy and confused man complied and climbed out of bed, clothed only in a pair of boxer shorts, which clung to his dirty and oily skin.

"Hands on your head. Up. Move."

The man reluctantly rested his quivering hands above his head, conscious of the sudden and rapidly growing need to relieve himself as he steadied his balance.

"You do what I say or I'll shoot you in the balls right here, right now. Understand?"

He nodded dumbly, unable to speak as he willed his bladder to clasp shut, clutching his legs together. Craig had to get this guy to calm down before he pissed himself or fainted.

"What's you name?"

"J-J-John."

"Okay, John. I'm not going to hurt you. OK?"

John couldn't help but start to sob. "P-P-Please don't hurt m-me."

"What did I just say, faggot!" Craig barked, shaking his head condescendingly as though he was talking to a 5 year old. "I'm not going to hurt you."

"OK" John was obviously not convinced, but seemed to gather himself somewhat.

"Now, I want your car. Where are the keys?"

The wide eyed disbelief in John's eyes threatened to progress into anger at the thought someone would steal his precious baby. "Fuck off! I ain't giving you my car!"

Instantly, he regretted the protest as the full view of the pistol's short barrel enveloped his vision, suddenly seeming as though it was a large as a vintage cannon, pointed right between his eyes, amplified by its promise of quick death. His legs quivered as tiny drops of urine started to seep out, warming his crotch.

Belying his outrage at being refused, Craig spoke calmly, aware of the effect the pistol was having on his hapless victim. Further shouting would be useless, maybe counterproductive if the guests in the other rooms heard and called the cops.

"Look, mate. I can either shoot you and find them myself, or you can help me and get to live. Choose."

Surprisingly, it took a moment before the poor man decided, reaching the obvious conclusion that, despite his car being his most prized and beloved possession as though his own child, his own life was more valuable. With a dejected, but barely audible sigh, he shuffled over to the nightstand and plucked the tinkling keys out of the top drawer.

Like a school boy standing before an irate head master, he shyly and reluctantly stepped forward and held the keys up, flinching as they were snatched away from him. If he wasn't going to cry before when his life was threatened, he appeared he might now, as though already in mourning for his best friend.

"Alright. Outside."

Without a murmur, he shuffled towards the door, his boxers rubbing uncomfortably as they clung to his skin, soaked and dripping as he let go and pissed himself freely. Urged on by the gunman, he couldn't help but pause in the open doorway as the glow of the morning sun caused him to squint, the first natural light he had seen for a few days now. The asphalt of the walkway dug into the soles of his feet and the chill of the morning air froze his sweaty arm pits, causing him to shiver, but he couldn't help but wonder which direction and how far his brains would fly out into the car park if the man behind him pulled the trigger. But why would he do that?

After the brightness of the daylight started to clarify and his eyes adjusted, even if they still ached, he looked down lovingly on his car, parked neatly a few steps ahead of him. Most people saw an ordinary silver pearl Holden Commodore, but he saw his life flash before his eyes. He remembered the girls he had fondled in both the front and back seats, the times he had smoked joints with his best friends on the way to a club and the time he drag raced a dumb blonde in a Porsche at a set of lights and won.

Startled, he watched as the boot sprung open, the gunman behind him having pressed the release button on the car key.

"Get in."

Incredulous, John turned around and opened his mouth to protest, but Craig stepped forward and shoved the gun right at his face.

"Get. In."

John started crying, choking heaves of air into his lungs between sobs, but slowly climbed inside the boot of the car with his hands still quivering above his head. He couldn't help but flinch as his bare skin came into contact with the icy cold felt material lining the floor. Thankfully, it was empty except for some old wrappers and dead insects.

"But.."

"NOW!"

The stench of rotten food and damp clothes assaulted his senses as he tried to touch as little of his confines as he could. He kept the car in reasonable condition and cleanliness, but how often do you expect to have to climb inside the back? Whimpering, he tucked his feet against his stomach and retreated inside just as Craig slammed the boot lid down and locked it. 

Craig could hear his smelly hostage panicking and screaming inside, but he calmly ignored the muffled cries and sat down into the driver's seat, throwing his sports bag full of spare clothes in the passenger foot well. With a solid turn of the key, the car coughed to life and the dribbling throb of the engine drowned out the cries still trying to permeate from the back. 

He needed the car, his own being a very run down Toyota with over 300,000 kilometres on the clock. There was nothing in it of value, so it was now destined to lie alone and abandoned in the hotel car park. There was no intention to ever come back for it.

This car was light years ahead for quality and reliability and he had previously pondered just waltzing in to John's room next door, simply putting a bullet in him and taking the keys, but you never know when a spare hostage might come in handy.

Besides, John was a low life stoner that liked to crank up his stereo full blast at all hours. He hated him. A bit of revenge wouldn't go astray, he surmised.

Again, Craig was pleasantly surprised and impressed at the contrast between his own dirty car and this example as he stared out through the near spotless windshield. Lazily, the car rolled to the exit, passing the hotel front office where he got a quick glance of a concerned young boy at the front desk, presumably at the end of his graveyard shift, probably trying to call the police.

Unfazed, he ambled along out onto the driveway and turned left down a lonely street, empty and devoid of any activity, much like most mornings in this area. Frankston was once one of the poorer suburbs of Melbourne, formerly known as the single mother on welfare capital of Victoria. The entire area was gentrifying, retirees and families with money lured by the proximity to the coast and it being the gateway to the Mornington Peninsula. However, elements of its former squalor remained, either lazily or defiantly resisting the urge to clean up.

Round here, no one was awake, let alone getting ready for work. No one worked here really either. Craig's meagre wage at as fruit picker at an orchard a short way down the coast was like a king's ransom compared to the squandered fortnightly welfare payments these lowlifes received.

It was coming on 8am, but none of them would be awake for a few hours yet, and even then they would just drown the day away in drugs and alcohol, their bedrooms and lounge rooms almost perpetually clouded with the sickly sweet smell of marijuana. 

A lone soccer ball lying in the gutter of a dilapidated house caught his attention. It was the only clean thing in sight. Every house in the street had overgrown lawns, their weatherboards chipped and peeling, fences broken and falling over, cars abandoned and stranded on hopelessly flat tyres. 'Charm' as the real estate agents put it.

This kind of environment was no place to live, but Craig had no choice. Circumstance had conspired to reduce him to what he now was. Bitter. A drunk. Depressed. Worthless.

XXX

_Craig raised the loaded pistol to his head, staring blankly ahead at a picture on the wall across the room. It was one of those cheap paintings of a beach with the sun shining and boats off in the distance. Little white smudges in the blue blotches of water…. far away._

_He continued to stare at those boats, the gun barrel now glued to his right temple, ready to fire. The little boats in the picture were calling him to that little blurred horizon that might promise something nice and free from all of this._

_How nice to escape, never see this place again._

_Start over._

_His finger twitched and depressed the trigger as he shut his eyes in anticipation, expecting a violent crack and a sudden darkness to envelope him, pierced by a white light calling to him softly._

_CLICK._

_He opened his eyes to see the little white boats still there, defiantly teasing him. Ha ha, you're not going anywhere!_

_Sweat rolled down his face, threatening to sting his eyes and he trembled so violently he feared the gun would fly out of his hands._

_Clasping it tightly, he lowered the pistol and cupped it in his lap, looking down at it longingly as though his best friend just let him down._

"_Fuck…"_

_He forgot to flick the safety off._

_Sobs wracked his body as he carefully placed the gun back on the nightstand, pointing it away from himself._

"_Too fucking stupid to even kill myself. A goddamn fuck up." he cursed_

_Like a lonely child, longing for a mother's comforting touch, he curled up on the bed, crying and blubbering until he fell asleep._

_XXX_

_He awoke with a start in desperate need for a leak. With a groan, he rolled out of bed, remembering the gun was still on the nightstand next to the half empty bottle of whisky. Despite the disgusting amount he drank just last night, his head was surprisingly clear._

_The barely working hotel clock radio beamed '6:49am', bathing the room in a very soft red glow that was barely enough to see where his pillows where, right in front of him._

_Carefully, he tip toed around the edge of the bed, but misjudged a step and stubbed his toe against the wooden frame, cursing loudly. _

_Grunting and mumbling, the warm pain finally subsided and he turned on the TV to get some extra light. It was the news._

_Further on, he tip toed around the remaining debris of unwashed clothes scattered in his way and practically exploded into the toilet bowl, almost missing. The relief was instantly satisfying as a relieved sigh escaped between his dry and cracked lips._

_The slight mumble of the newsman dribbled around the bathroom door, mixing with the sloshing of the water in the toilet as it felt the weight of the world was leaving his shoulders._

"_Ahhhhh"._

_Craig ripped off a square of toilet paper, wiped himself and held the slightly damp paper above the toilet between his thumb and index finger. Eyeing it in the glow, he let go and watched as the wad fluttered down towards the bowl in a series of arcs and stuck to the side of the bowl, just shy of the water._

_A grin stretched across his face as he pressed the button and watched the hapless wad disappear, before turning to the toilet paper roll on the metal ring fixed to the basin._

"_See what you guys got to look forward to? Enjoy, you little fuckers!"_

_Craig washed his hands, whistling an improvised tune while he lathered, aware that he felt strangely relaxed. All thoughts of last night seemed far away for some reason. _

"_Whatever. I feel good. Why question why?" he mumbled._

_Stepping out of the ensuite, a glance at the TV revealed a man with carefully styled hair mouthing softly using a very serious expression. A picture materialized next to him of a gruesome dead body accompanied by a tagline "flesh eating maniacs" in blood red lettering._

"_Uh?"_

_Flicking on a light switch and sitting on the end of the bed, he turned up the volume to listen, squinting as his eyes adjusted to the harsh light._

"…_-own at this point where the assailants came from or why they did this. This culminates in a series of reports of brutal and mysterious murders that we have received tonight. All seem to share similar outcomes including people being bitten by crazed and rabid assailants. Eaten alive, as bizarre as that seems. Wait….. I understand we are now going live to the Alfred hospital where I think we have a report of a survivor of an attack…."_

_The newsreader stared concernedly. Those newsreaders do it very well, they frown, nod and go "hmmm" like they actually care, he mused as he waited for the feed to begin._

_An Asian woman standing in what looked like a hospital foyer held a microphone in hand staring into the camera intently, eyes shining excitedly at the prospect of reporting something so weird and gruesome. Her hair looked as though she had a $500 salon treatment and had then promptly bumped into something, messing it up slightly._

"_Yes Troy. We received a tip off that a rush of patients had arrived covered in blood after an attack from a crazed man. We don't know what's happened exactly, but it does appear that…. Huh?"_

_The newsreader turned around and pointed her for the cameraman to get a shot of something new. The camera panned to the right where were working frantically over a stretcher. The camera microphone didn't pick it up very well, but it sounded like there was lots of shouting going on._

_The Asian reporter screamed as a dark figure seemed to leap off the stretcher and attack one of the nurses, tackling her to the ground. Everyone was screaming, but the cameraman's 'scoop' instincts sprung into action as he rushed forward to better capture the scene. _

_Suddenly, blood sprayed everywhere and the poor nurse on the ground clutched her throat, panicking and flailing around._

_The attacker surged for the camera and the vision went blurry in a flurry of motion, the sound having also disappeared._

_Craig stared at the newsfeed dumbfounded. He was only aware then that he was holding his breath._

_The vision then seemed to stabilize and the image showed what looked like a security guard on top of the attacker bashing his head with a truncheon, his back to the camera._

_The feed was again momentarily lost in a blur and a view of the hospital foyer doors appeared, with two figures running full pelt towards the camera._

"_Oh my god, omigod!"_

"_Get outta here!"_

_One of the figures filled the screen and seemed to charge the cameraman. A fleetingly gruesome sight of a blood-soaked figure filled the view before the feed cut to static._

_The screen cut back to the perfect hair newsreader back in to the studio, a shocked and numb look on his face. "Um…. It looks like we lost the feed there. Do we know what happened? Can we get the feed back?" He looked off camera, seemingly to his producer or a floorman._

_Craig continued to stare at the TV, watching the newsman stumble through trying to explain what happened. Mercifully, the ads started rolling._

"_Jesus Christ!" he stammered. He could remember last night in between shots of whiskey that there were similar, although much less detailed reports of people being attacked in the street, but they were much more isolated. Hospitals around the country had reportedly been flooded with people over the passed week bearing symptoms similar to the flu, but much worse, vomiting blood, hypothermia and aggressive behaviour. All week the news had been buzzing with the prospect that an epidemic was afoot, not just in Australia, but around the world. No one knew what it was or where it was coming from. One reporter called it 'blood flu' and the name stuck._

_An ad for business consultants of some sort, prompted him to change the channel. Programs for children's cartoons, music videos and infotainment were all replaced with other newsfeeds, each of them centred on scenes of chaos and destruction, whether in the city or local hospitals and police stations. One channel in particular caught his attention when an army representative spoke to a panicking press._

"_This is a national emergency. As implausible as it may seem, people everywhere are suddenly exhibiting signs of cannibalistic behaviour and attacking members of the public for unknown reasons. It is unknown whether this has any correlation with the recent flood of cases dubbed blood flu. Cases that have been investigated thus far have shown that attackers typically show no or little vital signs and drastically reduced cognitive ability. Their behaviour has been described as aggressive in the extreme. There is an unconfirmed theory that the virus attacks the brain leaving sufferers with drastically reduced brain function, which may account for their aggressive behaviour._

_We have received reports all over the country of this abnormal behaviour and advise all members of the public to stay indoors and await a concerted military and police response. Should you ever encounter a hostile, it is advised that you contact your local police or emergency services and avoid any contact if possible. We will provide more guidance and clarification when more information becomes available."_

"_Fuck me." Craig whispered, stunned and shocked at the update. Surely this can't be real._

_Thoughts of blood thirsty maniacs suddenly crashing through his window assaulted him and wouldn't let go. Their faces hidden by darkness except for pearly white teeth, grinning through slivers of blood, dripping on the floor as they piled onto him, pounding him into the carpet and tearing him apart._

_Lurching around the room in a panic, he tripped over his muddy work boots and tumbled onto the night stand. He yelped loudly as the corner of the little table jabbed into his thigh painfully, but the sight in front of him caused him to freeze, the pain suddenly forgotten._

_Next to the upturned and rapidly emptying whiskey bottle, he saw his pistol, black and ominous against the white table top. _

_Yes._

_A plan formed in his mind. The thought of his gun blowing away his attackers, cutting them in half was exhilarating, but his excitement was dulled by another realisation. _

_More would come. I gotta get outta here. Down to the coast where it's isolated, he thought._

_Quickly he grabbed the gun and tucked into the small of his back, reassured as it jutted uncomfortably into his skin and he hungrily searched for a bag. Gathering his dirty clothes, still lying on the floor, cluttered and draped in all sorts of places in his pig sty of a room, he shoved them inside and grabbed his car keys from the top drawer of the nightstand._

_Carefully, he searched the room looking for more possessions of value to take with him, but he was surprised that the bag of dirty clothes and the gun still poking into his back were all he could think of to take. The whiskey bottle had already drained onto the floor and… well that was it. There was nothing else. The room suddenly looked so empty._

_Even then, the room was not his. Just rented out to him for $100 a week. You could feel more at home and comfortable in the chair of a doctor's waiting room reading a six month old magazine about bathroom renovations. The bed stank of sweat and piss, the shower coughed out as much clogged hair as it did water and it felt like a jail cell. Well not quite. Jail cells get cleaned out at some point. This one's been passed over a bit for that. The poor cleaning lady hated waking Craig up to get in and do her job. Having decided she wasn't getting paid enough to be routinely told she was fat and ugly and should go back to her own country, she simply decided to skip the room over every time, which suited Crag just fine._

_Well, the bitch _was_ fat and ugly, he mused, shrugging his shoulders in an apathetic defence as he heading outside into the morning sun. Fingering the gun tucked behind him, he slowly stepped out into the empty and grey car park, looking for threats. With a tinge of disappointment and in contrast to the panicked tone of the news reports on the TV back inside, everything was quiet. _

_No movement and no noise, at all. Just dull concrete and tired trees, not even bothering to house a bird to see in the morning with a song._

_Sighing, his eyes settled on the old and faded Toyota parked before him, purchased for $600 from a pot head a couple of months ago. It was a shit box, to be sure, but it got the job done, he felt. Well mostly. The threat of a dead battery had been hanging over the sorry machine for a little while now. Nevertheless, he unlocked it and climbed inside, pulling out the pistol and setting it down on the passenger seat, next to an empty water bottle and hopelessly out-dated street directory._

_With a hopeful pause, he fumbled with the keys and wrenched the key around in the ignition._

_Over and over again, the engine coughed and wheezed, but refused to catch. Useless. Now of all the times._

_Panicking, his eyes settled on the gleaming Commodore in the car space next to his. His hotel neighbour owned it and always kept it clean. It was much bigger, better and newer than this rust bucket. Looking back and forth between the shiny car and the pistol lying on the passenger seat next to him, he wrapped his hand around the weapon and stepped back outside, creeping up to the owner's hotel room door._

XXX

The stench of death thickened the stale air, but could not dull the screams of an unfortunate woman who woke just in time to witness two assailants crash through her bedroom window. Terrified and confused, she only had a moment to try and untangle herself out from her bed covers and dive away, but was too slow as the crazed attackers surged across and tackled her down in an instant. Desperately, she tried to struggle out of their grip, but they were too strong and her screams turned into a choking gurgle as one of them tore her throat out, sending great streams of dark blood shooting across the floor.

They seemed to relish the struggle and slowed as their victim twitched and writhed, slowly succumbing in wide eyed horror. Satisfied with their work, they began to devour their prey, but hesitated when they heard a noise from outside. A promise of more fresh meat.

XXX

The car radio crackled at first as the automatic antenna rose out from the sleek body work, but the baritone voice of the calm news announcer was clear and smooth compared to his old Toyota. Everything about this car and the thrill of its theft was giving Craig an erection.

"Further reports have been coming in as chaos threatens to grip Melbourne. Traffic jams have crippled the city district and main arterial roads as riots and looting spiral out of control. Police and army units are being deployed to contain the situation, but many are still reeling from the suddenness of it all. Government representatives are still at a loss to explain what may have caused this, but continue to advise residents to stay indoors and barricade their homes. However, many people seem to have ignored this advice and are trying to flee the city, causing many inner suburban roads to clog amid reports of accidents and blockages."

As he reached the end of the street and looked for traffic, Craig caught sight of two figures in his rear view mirror running towards him. He leaned out of his seat and peered through his back window for a better look.

They were about 50 metres away and closing fast. A pair of young men running side by side, covered in blood, one of them with an arm missing, the whites of their crazed eyes visible even from here. Must be these psycho bastards, he surmised. His heart pounded as he stabbed the accelerator down, sending the car lurching forward as the tyres squealed, searching for grip and finding it soon after as the traction control kicked in, bleeding the accelerator off until the tyres bit into the asphalt.

Quickly, the car reached 40 kmph and the men continued to give chase, although already stared to drop back. Craig had been watching them in his rear view mirror so intently he forgot where he was driving and had to swerve to the right to avoid crashing into a house fence. The car bucked and rolled but soon righted itself, having lost precious speed as the tyres squealed again and the pursuers gained some distance.

The car now stable and the road ahead open and straight, Craig tried to run through his options. He originally intended to get to the local supermarket and somehow stock up on food and water. That plan was going to go out the window if he didn't get these guys off his back.

John.

Time to put him to use.

Reaching down, he found the boot release catch by his feet and looked out through the back window to see that it had indeed popped open. John, at first grateful for the opportunity to escape, opened the boot up and recoiled back inside as the blood soaked pursuers bore down towards him, growling.

"Jesus Christ!" he screamed. "Fuck! Shit! Help me!"

The attackers were still running in hot pursuit, visible in Craig's side mirrors. It was a wonder they were still following him. They were still running at full steam in a sprint. "They shouldn't be running this fast. One of them has an arm missing for fuck's sake!" he thought.

Nevertheless, the car was speeding along faster than the men could keep up and Craig slowed down for them. He had to get them to catch up and get John, hopefully giving them a target to occupy themselves with and abandon their chase.

Wild with fear, John felt the car markedly decrease speed and the pursuers promptly caught up, reaching for the boot's edge as he screamed again. "Oh God! Faster! Faster! Don't let them get me!"

Craig increased his speed as a tight corner in the road approached. As he accelerated, one of the attackers dove forward and latched on. With one hand clasped tightly around the boot latch, its other hand searched inside through the half open boot lid, trying to grab the naked prey inside like a bird pecking inside a snail shell. The other attacker tried in vain to keep up, but lost ground quickly.

Craig approached the corner and swerved the car around just as John reached up from inside the boot to try and dislodge the determined attacker. However, the car bucked and snapped around so violently that he lost his balance and tumbled out through the open space, smacking into the rough asphalt and skidding along into the gutter.

Craig saw his flying pink blur in his mirror and arced the car around to watch the coming carnage as the two crazed attackers quickly closed in on the hapless and torn man.

John, dazed and semi-conscious from the fall, snapped awake as the pain of his open wounds and the various stones and pieces of asphalt lodged into his skin registered, feeling as though has was sitting in a bath of searing hot water. Everything burned as he opened his eyes, screaming at the pain, just in time to see his attackers bear down on him.

Nothing could describe the sheer terror and horror he felt as his throat disappeared, replaced by a gurgling choke, torn away and the gushing blood drowning him. Try as he could to swat them away, he could not stop the other attacker grabbing his face and biting down, scraping its teeth against his eye socket, piercing his eyeball and taking away his vision.

In a way, it was a merciful thing as he didn't have to see the two abominations smile and chew down on the flesh they had torn off him. He couldn't see their triumph as they tore into his stomach and pulled out his intestines, draping them over him like tinsel on a Christmas tree.

The unholy sight was hidden from him, but not from Craig who watched, both horrified and utterly fascinated from his parked car. Whilst he had his suspicions, the sight before him confirmed it. He had seen zombie movies before. He had seen movies of the re-animated dead when he was younger. It was unmistakable.

These were zombies.

The walking dead. Bullet to the brain. All that business.

However, all the ones he had seen in the movies were slow and shuffling morons. These bastards could run.

"Goddamn!" he exclaimed breathlessly.

A slither of movement across the street woke him from his thoughts and away from the gruesome sight before him as an old woman's face poked out from between curtains through a window. She looked as though she intended to complain about the noise, but froze in a horrified stare at the carnage. John only now started to succumb to his death as the blood loss from his throat filled his lungs, despite his choking attempts to breath.

The old woman looked up at Craig, disbelieving and incredulous before retreating back inside to vomit on the floor with disgust and horror.

Somewhat stunned and in a daze, Craig looked back down at the sorry and unholy sight, John's naked and lily white skin stained black and red with his blood as his intestines snaked out onto the road and into the gutter. The two zombies seemed not to care for Craig, satisfied they had made their kill and were intent on enjoying the spoils of their efforts.

Acknowledging their indifference, and thankful for it, Craig slowly drove on, heading for the main road for the supermarket, unable to hold back a smirk.


	2. First taste

**CHAPTER 2**

It took a moment to work through the initial shock of the revelation and the gruesome sight, but Craig's heartbeat surged with adrenaline, excited at his handiwork and the perverse rush of the kill. He had never done it before. He might have expected it to be disturbing and distasteful, maybe even a guilty pleasure. Instead it was just plain old exciting, like having lost his virginity to a busty blonde model.

A glimpse of smeared blood on a broken picket white fence, however, dispelled the delirium and reminded him of the lurking threat hiding in the plentiful houses lining the road. The thought of them swarming out suddenly, tackling him down and devoured like they did John caused him to violently shudder and he had to adjust his grip on the steering wheel, lest it jerk in his hands and send him crashing into a telephone pole.

At the end of the street, he pulled the car to a stop to check exactly where he was and to get his head straight. He was at a small intersection and a right turn would place him on the main town road leading him to the main shopping strip a kilometre down. Looking down the street, a car approached, a Mitsubishi something. Casually, it pulled across in front of him to reveal a middle aged man in a business suit.

Craig eyeballed him as he passed, and the driver simply ignored him, or didn't even see him, and continued on his way. Just like normal. He was heading to the freeway. 

Probably a city worker. Have fun, mate, Craig smiled at the thought of what might happen to him. Maybe a car crash on the freeway, or tackled by zombies when he reached a car park, maybe even car jacked by a crazy poof and anal raped in an alley!

A thump on the left side of the car jolted Craig out of his daydreaming. A bloody faced maniac was pawing against the window, wiping large streaks of blood back and forth across the glass.

"Jesus Christ!", Craig shouted and floored the accelerator without thinking and the face disappeared from view. So focussed on getting away from the monster, he forgot he was driving across an intersection and wrenched the wheel around to the right to turn down the street and avert a crash into a house's front yard.

As he righted the car, he turned and looked out the back window. Between his open boot flapping up and down, he saw a glimpse of the zombie, which had fallen down and was trying to get up, quickly disappearing as the distance grew.

Craig panted as his previously loose fitting jumper and T-shirt felt it was suddenly going to choke the life out of him.

It was already the second time he hadn't paid attention to where he was going and almost crashed. 

"Stupid fuck! Damn stupid man! Keep your cool!" He focused on his heavy breathing and the noise from his car engine as he continued along the main road into town. 

Slowly, the pounding heartbeat in his ears subsided and he began to calm. Another couple of cars, their occupants appearing oblivious to the impending zombie threat, drove by as though it was another normal morning. Presumably they were listening to CD's instead of the radio and had no idea of the carnage they would soon collide into. They were, practically, guaranteed to die.

The thought of these ordinary people blindly driving off to their death might be expected to inspire maudlin feelings of sympathy or a desire to help, but Craig simply shrugged at the realisation, "Better them than me." and focussed on getting to his destination.

After a couple of minutes of careful driving, Craig could see the supermarket sign creep up over the rooflines in front of him. It was put together hastily, but the plan was to check if he could simply just go inside and buy his supplies like anyone normally would, or whether looting would be involved. The sight of the pistol still lying on the passenger seat seemed to predict a pessimistic outlook of his chances, but he needed to try. All he had were the clothes on his back and in his bag. Nothing else. He needed supplies.

One by one, other houses and quiet shop fronts passed by, distinctly cleaner and more upmarket than the dilapidated and depressing neighbourhood he had occupied lately, but not by far. Slowly, the supermarket approached and it was heartening to see everything around it appeared clean and undisturbed. No blood anywhere. Nothing seemed broken. No abandoned cars and no one running around screaming. Everything appeared normal. Well not quite. It was odd. There was no one around. At all.

He couldn't help but eye the ominous and wide open front door of the last remaining house that passed by before the supermarket came into view, like an oasis, sending a reserve wave of relief washing over him.

Thankfully, the car park was nearly empty and he pulled into a spot very close to the front entrance. 

The supermarket was a typical one, selling everything from fresh fruit, canned goods, meat, bread, ready meals and some token garden hardware like shovels.

Next door were various other small stores, including a hardware store and a green grocer. Poor fucker's probably losing to the supermarket like my place did too, he thought angrily. Now, the plan.

"Food first, then the hard stuff." He mumbled to himself and opened the car door, scanning all around him as he cautiously walked up to the supermarket front entrance. There were people milling about inside and he remembered the supermarket opened at 6am. It was closer to 8:30am now. The pistol in his right hand felt heavy and out of place, so he quickly slid it into his belt behind his back and let the end of his jumper cover it over.

As he approached the automatic door, he scanned his surrounds again and things appeared normal. No zombies or anything. Looks like nothing has happened here, yet. Business as usual, he thought to himself as he grabbed a trolley.

What looked like an old woman and a stoner were ambling through the aisles, just like any other day. A couple of bored and sleepy teenagers manned the cash registers, nothing to do yet.

The light of the fluorescent bulbs over head seemed otherworldly and alien, compared to the relatively bright sun outside. A harsh white burn compared to the soft golden glow of the sunrise, it did nothing to help him relax or focus. Neither did the pretentiously calculated and patronising music that oozed out softly from the speakers overhead.

_I stiiiill haven't found, what I'm looking for._

"Goddamn it, not that Bono dickhead. I'm sure you won't find it in here. Shut up." he whined privately, now feeling quite surly and eager to get out. Whilst his employment as a fruit picker had its downside, one of the upsides was a better appreciation for the outdoors, having been in the sun and breathed the clean air of the orchards. Being locked inside places such as this, organised to make you stay as long as possible to buy as much as possible always seemed to always cause him to break out in a warm sweat. At least, he thought, my trolley doesn't have one of the wheels that wiggle around all over the place or pushes the whole thing off to the side. This example was as smooth as anything he could think of.

Bypassing the fresh fruit stalls by the entrance, he headed for the canned food, grabbing can after can of spam, baked beans, and soups, over 30 cans in all and moved further down the aisle. What looked like a middle aged mother with large, if saggy breasts, threatening to pop out of her top, approached, looking for something on the shelf next to him. She eyed his trolley and gave him an amused look, as though mocking him.

Well, they say you can judge people by the contents of their shopping trolley. Obviously, she found Craig wanting.

He returned her gaze with a dirty grin, "Your cans look better than mine, love."

The grin on her face instantly disappeared, replaced by an angry snarl, "Fucker!" She flipped him the finger as she rounded the corner and disappeared, off to find a staff member to complain to.

The small victory of having successfully pissed her off did the job of helping him to relax much better than the tinny music. Satisfied, he turned around and headed for the little hardware section up the back of the store. It was a small section, but it had a pretty sturdy looking shovel and axe, both with metal heads and wooden handles. He grabbed both, not bothering to check the price. If everything went as he hoped, it wouldn't matter.

Even after all of this, the trolley was still only about half full and he turned back, worming up and down the aisles looking for more goods he deemed useful. Two minute noodles, chocolate, ready made meals and some long life milk and water bottles. It felt strange and exhilarating to heave armfuls of the stuff into the trolley when he usually had to budget his money and buy only what he needed. Especially when he needed to skimp on the food bill to afford alcohol.

The trolley was still not quite full, but it was enough, he decided finally. Just as the U2 song finished oozing out of the speakers overhead, the shrill whines of the indignant woman he insulted earlier could be heard, mercilessly laying her complaint into some poor kid. 

Keen to exit the store before she turned her anger on him or called the police, he jogged down the aisle to an empty checkout. The sleepy check out boy, named Tom his cheerful badge exclaimed, didn't even notice the abundance of canned food and instant noodles, he just scanned them and packed them like a robot. Dark bags under his eyes were likely evidence of having had a big night beforehand, as he mumbled a "how are you?" with a distinct lack of enthusiasm.

With a swipe of the credit card, everything was paid for. Craig sighed thankfully that the bank lines were still operating as he hoped, and put back into the trolley for a hasty exit, as the woman's cries continued to echo throughout the store, causing many to stroll off to look. 

A sharp gust of cool air was sorely welcomed on his moist forehead as he stepped outside. In an instant, his sweating body cooled and the encroaching claustrophobia had washed away. With a spring in his step, he quickly loaded the contents of the trolley into the boot, smirking as he remembered John having been in it only moments before. The thought of the zombies that were likely still devouring him caused his eyes to absently rest on the axe laid across the heavy bags of cans and packaged meals. Suddenly excited, he picked it up, feeling its reassuring weight in his hands and the pull on his shoulder as it hung by his side.

Closing the boot, he cast his eyes around again and walked to the hardware store across the empty car spots, some littered with half eaten take away food.

A red sign surrounded with cartoonish garden gnomes, proudly exclaimed the store was closed, not intending to open for another 2 hours yet. Unbothered, Craig peered inside, hoping to see more things he could use as weapons, but his eyes where drawn to the left where he noticed a blurred figure in the reflection and spun around.

A young woman in her underwear was charging right towards him, only 20 metres away back into the car park as she leaped over a small steel hand rail by the curb. Despite her left arm missing, torn off with ragged strands of flesh flicking back and forth as she ran towards him, he couldn't help but stare at her small breasts that bounced with every step. Through her brown curled hair, she growled, showing off white teeth, eager to sink into the warm flesh of her prey.

The weight of the axe idly clutched in his right hand suddenly became very real and obvious and he snapped it up over his shoulder out of reflex, ready to bring it down on his naked attacker. Even as she reached out for him and he swung the axe down, aiming for her head, he couldn't take his eyes off her nakedness. The swing, guided poorly by his inattention, was mistimed and only clipped the side of her head, bouncing off and flinging out of his hands as she barrelled into him and sent them both crashing through the storefront in a shower of broken glass. 

The glass dug uncomfortably into his back through his jumper as he fell hard into the store onto his back, the breath knocked out of him and, ironically, unaware of the woman's breasts pressing into his face as she tumbled over him. A yelp escaped his lips as the gun, still tucked into the small of his back, pressed painfully and awkwardly into his spine.

Craig tried to bring his hands to his face to fend off the bloodthirsty undead woman, but he was pinned beneath her as her legs kicked painfully into his crotch. Desperately, she clawed and grabbed for him with her good arm, but Craig blindly managed to keep it at bay as he searched for some purchase to roll her over and gain the upper hand. Flailing amongst the broken glass that carpeted the cold concrete floor, he managed to wriggle out from under the rabid monster and shove his elbow into her face, stunning her for an instant as her front teeth cracked and broke from the solid blow.

With a concerted lunge, he managed to leap on top of her and pin her good arm against the floor.

Only now was her face visible through her hair, which draped away to the floor and the unholy colour of her eyes became apparent. Even if there was some shred of proof he still needed after watching those two monsters eat John alive, there was no doubt that this was not a human being anymore, despite whatever she might have been only moments before. She might have been anything from a devoted mother, good natured and pure of heart to a drug addicted slut for money. It didn't matter now. Now her glazed and swirling grey eyes only spoke volumes of a primal and unholy desire to kill and devour him.

As though sensing his revulsion, she pushed back up with surprising strength and flipped him over, further into the store and crashing against a cardboard stand.

Craig fumbled for the gun still tucked into the small of his back, and managed to get his fingers around the handle and pull it out as she leaped over hungrily, causing the gun top fly from his hands.

Trying to scream, but finding little air in his lungs, he desperately tried to keep her at bay as she writhed and struggled to pull herself down to land a bite. Eyeing her broken teeth inch closer, he fumbled his hand around amongst the broken glass on the floor, looking for the pistol and found it quickly, thankfully not having flown out of arm's reach.

Triumphant, he grabbed the gun's handle in his right hand and the woman's neck with his left and shoved her face up high above him. Bringing the pistol around to bear, he shoved the barrel through her screaming maw as she bit down on the cold steel, oblivious to the death was coming as Craig depressed the trigger and closed his eyes.

The loud, although slightly muffled, pop of the pistol was accompanied by a wet spray as the woman's brains splattered the ceiling with fragments and chunks falling back on the floor. Her eyes turned inward, now devoid of the blood thirsty rage that shocked Craig before, and her face slackened in a dumb and blank stare.

Cold and limp in his hands, he hesitated to open his eyes as blood continued to rain down on him, splattering his face. A clump of something wet and heavy slapped against his cheek, causing him to jerk his arms and throw her away in disgust. Coughing and choking with revulsion, he finally opened his eyes to see her rag doll body crash into a pile of stacked paint cans, which tumbled around her. Thankfully, none of them popped open in the mess.

Craig stopped and stared at the woman amongst the pile, breathing fast and heavily, tensely eyeing her to see if she was still moving. Her previously ravenous demeanour was now replaced with a quiet and seemingly incongruous stillness, not quite the disgusting bloody mess he was expecting to see, but not either a picture of angelic peacefulness as clumps of brain matter oozed out of her open skull. 

Everything was quiet until a shrill noise began to pierce Craig's ears. It was the store alarm blaring louder with every second as Craig's awareness returned.

Awkwardly, he sat up and looked outside. A stunned crowd was watching from the front of the supermarket. None dared to move to help him.

Craig stumbled outside into the car park, having forgotten about the axe lying amongst the broken glass at the front of the hardware store, and looked for his car. It seemed suddenly as though he had concrete blocks for feet and rubber bands for legs as he stumbled about, barely staying upright until he slammed dumbly into the driver door. 

Butter fingers reached for his car keys, and almost dropped them before the doors unlocked and he fumbled himself inside.

The shrill blare of the store alarm instantly died, suffocated away by the insulated cabin as he clutched the steering wheel, hands shaking. As though his encounter were a precursor for what was to come, a thin crowd of rabid people surged down the main road and quickly swamped the car park, heading for the supermarket. Attracted by the lights and the gawking people outside, whose attention swiftly moved from Craig to the approaching horde, they numbered only 20 or 30, but they were an unstoppable force.

Craig watched, helpless and strangely exhausted from inside his car as the zombies charged the store, oblivious to his presence. The scene outside seemed another world away, blurred slightly through the windows and all sound besides his own heavy breathing muffled into near deafness. Despite his dulled senses and the enclosed cabin, he could still hear, albeit only just, the piercing and confused cries of the people inside. He couldn't see, but they were all overrun in a matter of seconds, like a small crop stripped bare by a cloud of starving locusts.

Suddenly feeling like a tired old man, he quietly inserted the key into the ignition and flinched when the starter motor cut the silence. Like a loud fart in a quiet library, all of the zombies milling about outside turned instantly at the noise and rushed in unison towards him.

Sensing the new danger, Craig awoke and his hands and feet sprung into action, sending the engine revs high and strong as the car lurched forwards towards them with a scream. A young man, nearly naked like the zombie that jumped him at the hardware store, charged straight for the car's bonnet and seemed to bounced off to the side like it was a bowling pin, spinning as it flew down the side of the car and crashed into the asphalt.

Yanking the wheel, Craig swerved towards the exit, smacking another zombie down with the rear quarter of the car as it whipped around like a giant baseball bat. The tyres squealed as they tried to grip down and propel the car forwards. Locked in a drift and coming alarmingly close to another parked sedan, the back end snapped back around and straightened up as the tyres finally bit down.

The rev needle dipped and promptly rose as the engine pushed on and shifted up a gear, growling as another blood thirsty monster bounced off the bonnet and tumbled over the car, skidding over the roof and thumping down heavily onto a concrete walkway.

Operating by sheer instinct and reflex, Craig guided the car out through the exit, swerving around in a tight ninety degree right hander, bucking heavily as the driveway dipped and the front tyres met the main road. The way cleared quickly and the car settled into a straight line of blistering acceleration, leaving the hapless zombies behind and Craig pinned back into his seat.

"Fuck! Jesus Christ, motherFUCK!", he shouted into the windscreen, droplets of blood streaking up the glass as he ran his left hand through his hair, now slick with the blood of that zombie woman he dispatched. His heart was pumping impossibly fast, thumping in his ears and he fought to find breath. Eager for some distraction, he fumbled for the radio. Instantly a grainy voice erupted from the back speakers, much too loud. His wet left hand slipped around the dial as he lowered the volume.

"….-ain. Reports of more and more attacks are filtering in from around the state, even the country as people seem to be turning violent, almost as if they have rabies, attacking their neighbours, people on the street, biting and eating others in frenzied attacks. Listeners are advised to barricade inside their homes, sealing off all vulnerable areas and await a police and army response to this hysteria."

Craig switched the channel up and a soft song wafted through the speakers.

"are tearing me apart…."

It was soppy song by Jewel. 

"Great. First Bono, then this dumb bitch." He cursed.

Delirious from the rush of near death, he couldn't stifle a crazed chuckle. Choking between heaving breaths, his hysterics grew and amplified into a screaming laugh at the absurdity of it all.

What the fuck is going on? Shit like this is not supposed to happen. You pay money to watch shit like this on a cinema screen. Here I am racking up the body count! Goddamn, what a rush! He laughed at the thought of it all.

A large green sign overhead stole his attention and brought him back into the real world. The road down the left, through the intersection ahead, led to the Gippsland Highway. Oddly, a green arrow at the traffic lights ahead pointed in that direction as though commanding him.

Amorous, he simply obeyed and turned into the on ramp for the highway, towards the coast. The highway was largely empty. Craig supposed the people that might think to use it were either dead, shortly going to die or stuck in a death trap of a traffic jam further back towards the city.

"Fuck them. Every man for himself." He spat.

He had to get out of the suburbs and escape to the safety of the empty countryside before the entire city erupted into a bloody and chaotic mess.


	3. Gone shopping

**CHAPTER 3**

It was such a relaxing contrast out here on the highway. Ever since he managed to escape Frankston, the Gippsland Highway flowed down towards the horizon, nearly completely devoid of activity. Heading east, Craig followed the coast looking for a quiet and zombie free town to lay low for a while.

One or two cars passed him in the opposite direction, heading towards the city and he couldn't help but wryly smile at their presumed ignorance. More dumb lambs to the slaughter.

There seemed to be a smattering of other cars heading in the same direction as him, but they all gradually peeled off the Highway towards various towns and roads that he did not recognise. However, one car in particular held its course and followed Craig. Looking in his rear view mirror, he could see a middle aged man in a Volkswagon Golf who waved excitedly back as though he was an old friend who suddenly recognised him. It was strange to see someone who, amongst this entire apocalyptic mess, seemed to have the same idea concerning escape that he did.

However, unlike the man, Craig was careful to watch the road and turned his eyes just in time to see two seemingly oblivious zombies milling about in the middle of the way. Swerving gently and calmly, Craig slalomed around them, but the man in the Golf was not so skilful.

Craig watched in the rear view mirror as the blood drained from the poor man's face upon seeing the obstacle too late, but tried to swerve anyway. With a hard tug driven by blind reflex, he jerked the wheel and snapped the front end to the right. Commendably, he managed to avoid one of the loitering zombies, but smacked the other's legs out from under it and sent it catapulting into the air, somersaulting violently and disappearing from view behind him. However, the car continued to drift around and veered towards the highway's middle, before it bore down into the concrete barrier. Like a child attempting to cartwheel for the first time and overdoing it, the back of the car lifted and tumbled up and over, sending the car into a deadly roll. Flying in a spinning blur of twisting metal, it continued to violently tumble down the road, end over end against the barrier, before it finally bounced over it and disappeared from view into a ditch.

Just like that, he was gone.

All thoughts of going back to help him were dispelled as the remaining zombie, ironically, broke out into a sprint and jumped over the broken barrier, suddenly intent on picking out the broken body of the man likely saved by the airbags that would have deployed during the crash.

Oh how he would wish he didn't buy curtain airbags so he could have quickly and mercifully died when his forehead smacked into the A pillar, killing him instantly, instead of being eaten alive in the aftermath. C'est la vie, Craig laughed selfishly, revelling in the schadenfreude. Better him than me. 

Moments later, the road dipped and veered around a hillside and Craig took the opportunity to stop and clean himself up. The blood that splattered all over him from his encounter in the hardware store had dried and clumped in his hair, his skin and all over his clothes. Quickly and nervously, he changed clothes and washed his face and hair as best he could without wasting too much of the bottled water he brought along.

Satisfied, he climbed back in and rocketed down the deserted country road, relishing the chance to mash the accelerator down into the foot well and feel the G-force of pin him back in his seat. It had been a long time since he had felt the pleasure of an automotive rush like this. The fact that a family sedan like this could bestow this much excitement spoke volumes of his low standards, he mused dejectedly.

In only a few seconds, he reached his previously comfortable cruising speed and watched the landscape waft by in silence.

It was relaxing and peaceful out here. No one around much at all except for country farmyard houses here and there.

The hills bore a touch of green, seeming to anticipate the winter rains that for the past few years had been less than hoped for as the drought continued to grip the land. Cotton ball clouds seemed to acquiesce, promising showers, but they seemed to do that a lot before they disappeared the next day teasingly having not left behind a drop.

Now and again he turned on the radio to get updates of the chaos unfolding back in the city. It was surreal to be out here in the peaceful country side, tranquil and beautiful as the sun slowly rose higher, knowing that the city left behind him was choking in blood. The panicked tone of voice of the various newsreaders and government officials were at odds with the gentle thrum of the tyres beating down on the highway and the buffeting wind sneaking in through the window. The thought of the indiscriminate murder and suffering bearing down on men, women and children everywhere seemed to waft away, like a piece of paper being pulled out the window and taken away by a gust of wind.

Meandering back through the events of the day, he eventually found himself rewinding back over the preceding years that brought him to where he is now. 

A few years ago, he owned and ran a successful electronics store and was happily married to Kathy. Three children, then 6, 8 and 11 were the pride and joy of his life before it all started to go downhill.

A large department store was built just down the street, including a much larger and competing electronic chain with lower prices and a larger range, comprehensively sending him out of business. Try as he might, he couldn't compete and the stress of flogging the dead horse that was his beloved store took its toll on his family. They grew distant and uncaring for him as he spent night after night working late and playing poker with local sharks and gamblers to try and make back the difference.

They became his friends more than anyone else at the time. "You'll be OK, mate", they said "Keep trying, you'll make it." Looking back now, it was obvious that they weren't real friends, but joked and sucked up to him because they were sneakily co-operating to bleed his pockets dry. Day by day his pile of chips dribbled away until he made the mistake of a last ditch effort to win big against them, financed by a loan shark to the tune of $10,000.

The saying goes that poker players don't remember their wins. They remember their losses. Craig frowned in angry disbelief, even now, as he remembered going all in with his $10k with a monster hand and losing everything to an even bigger hand.

Desperate to meet the loan shark's demands, he tried to rob a bank and was promptly arrested in the foyer. Two years inside Barwon prison being butt fucked by thugs and losers destroyed any hope of a normal life. The kick while he was down was getting divorce papers while he was inside. It was the only time she visited him. His kids never did. They didn't know him anymore.

And now here I am. Free and alive, he thought and couldn't help but smile with a dry sense of triumph. His stomach warmed at the thought of the snake that took his $10,000 being eaten alive by a zombie in some dark alley. Alone and forgotten. 

Thoughts inevitably turned back to his family. What was happening to them? He wondered.

During the divorce, he and Kathy had been forced to declare bankruptcy and lost the house. They had been behind for a while on their bills and the loan shark wasn't helping matters. Her parents bailed her out and opened their house to her and the kids. God bless them, he mumbled sarcastically.

They owned a holiday house up near Echuca. Maybe they managed to flee before anything happened. Maybe they're safe. Are they? He wondered vacantly.

Surprised, Craig found he wasn't overly concerned. After all, I don't know them anymore. It's like they never existed.

Fuck 'em, he thought, followed by further question.

What about that John guy? What does he matter? If I didn't kill him, he probably would have been killed by someone else or a zombie anyway. What's the difference? Or that woman that attacked me at the hardware store. Does it bug me that I had blown her brains out all over the ceiling? Does that make me a murderer? A criminal? The questions tumbled around in his mind before the conclusion became clear.

No, these things are dead. The movies say so. That woman was dead already and John was as good as dead anyway. The law doesn't apply here anymore. Every man for himself, he resolved.

Soon enough, he drifted back to watching the empty road snake along before him in silent contentment. He cupped his hand against the wind streaming in through the window, feeling it massage his palm.

Peaceful.

However, the fuel gauge was creeping closer towards the dreaded 'E', requiring a stop for fuel. The next town was 11 kilometres away.

A small blur further up the road caught his attention. It looked like a parked car on the side of the road. An Audi of some sort, silver. A little out of place here.

Slowing cautiously, he glided by the car, attentively scanning the inside of the Audi through its window and was surprised to see a young woman stare back at him immediately brightening into a smile. A smile cracked across Craig's weathered face in return and he eased his own car to a stop, parking slightly ahead of hers.

His hands shook excitedly at the prospect of new company. From the fleeting glimpse he stole as he drove passed, she seemed pretty good looking. Hurriedly killing the engine and popping open the door, he was eager to confirm his suspicions.

Even before his shoe met the dirt, she was already standing next to her car and walking towards him, likely just as relieved and exhilarated. Climbing out into the cool air, he was pleasantly surprised to see she was indeed an attractive young girl in her early twenties.

Although she was only dressed in jeans and sneakers, Craig suddenly felt somewhat self conscious given he was wearing a dirty looking flannelette shirt, worn jeans and cheap sneakers, aptly complemented by his unshaven face and scruffy oily hair. Absently looking back to his own car from the proud Audi logo gleaming prominently on the front grill, he couldn't help but feel like a bum criminal as he traced his eyesight along the crusted blood streaks that still clung to the Commodore's doors and windows.

"Hey!" she cried, still smiling brightly. Although obviously jubilant, she halted her approach, loitering defensively by her car's front wheel.

Craig smiled back as happily and disarmingly as he could, "Hello! How are you?"

"Oh, I could be better. Have you heard about the zombie stuff going on in the city?"

"Yeah, I had a couple of run-ins back there." Craig began to step forward slowly, hands out and clear on his hips. "Where you headed?"

"Not sure, exactly. Just anywhere but back at Melbourne.", her smile faded and she started shaking. "My flatmate… she…she tried to bloody kill me last night! I'm…I didn't know what to do!"

"It's OK. My neighbour tried to kill me too! Hey, what's you name?"

"J-Julia."

"Nice to meet you, Julia. I'm Craig. How long you been out here?"

"About an hour or something. Flat tyre. I've never done one before and I can't get the bolts to budge." She clutched her left arm sheepishly as though embarrassed.

Craig looked at her feet and could see the tyre was indeed flat. The circular frame of the shiny alloys were digging into the dirt.

"I should be able to take care of that."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah, let's give it a go."

"Uh, OK." she backed away and folded her arms as Craig approached.

Craig knelt down by the wheel and pulled on the tyre iron. The bolts slipped around and came loose one after the other after a good tug. Julia simply stood in silence as he worked. Sensing uneasiness on her part, he decided to keep her talking.

"Sorry, I look like a bum at the moment. I didn't get a chance to clean up this morning." He smiled sheepishly. "One of those zombies jumped me in my hotel room."

She shifted uncomfortably on her feet, "Yeah? How did you get away? What happened?"

"Lucky I own a pistol for self defence. I shot the poor man down. It had to be done. It was him or me." He lied. She again shifted uncomfortably on her feet, adjusting her balance and biting her lip nervously. Despite his haggard appearance, he had to assure her he was not a creep or a criminal. A young girl stranded on her own in the middle of a zombie plague had a right to be nervous. "I didn't enjoy doing it."

"I don't get it." she blurted. "Why the hell has this been happening?"

"I've been listening to the radio-"

"Yeah, me too." She interrupted. "But no one's got any idea what's going on."

With a small sigh, he leaned back from the tyre iron and looked up at her, forcing her to meet his gaze as he spoke softly, "I know. None of this makes sense, but we gotta stick together. It was such an ordeal to get out of the city. I haven't seen anyone on the roads besides you. What happened? What brought you out here?"

As though collecting her thoughts, she folded her arms and stared down the road as Craig turned back to resume tugging on the stubborn bolts, giving her space.

Slowly and stumbling, Julia explained a bit about herself as he worked. She was a young accountant from an inner-suburb living in a small house with a University student flatmate who had been feeling sick all week. It was that strange blood flu. She had no idea where she got it from and no idea why Julia herself didn't get from her or anyone else.

However, she woke up during the night to hear pounding on her door and growling and snarling. She grabbed a vacuum cleaner tube from her wardrobe and stood on her bed, crying and panicking in her pyjama's. Crying for the noise to stop and fearing a home invasion.

A large shard broke away from the door, revealing her flatmate as the attacker. She wasn't the same person. She was screaming hungrily for Julia, crazy-eyed and rabid. She eventually broke through the door and charged, but Julia smacked her in the face with the vacuum cleaner tubing, flooring her. In a panic, she kept hitting her with it until she stopped moving and her skull had caved in. Repulsed and shocked by what she had done, she then puked all over the poor girl's broken body. There was blood and vomit everywhere.

Afraid of being arrested for murder she jumped in her car and drove as fast as she could out of the city in the early morning. It was during her drive she listened to news reports on the radio and pieced together what was going on and that her flatmate must have been a zombie.

Hence, she was now stuck by the roadside after losing control of her car and nearly crashing into a ditch. She must have run over a nail or something and popped the tyre.

Telling the story seemed to calm her down, having been reassured by Craig that indeed zombies were running around when he up and left Frankston. "You did the right thing." He kept on saying.

Craig walked through his hastily constructed story. He owned an orchard and was attacked in his hotel room. He skipped over his time in jail and reiterated his lie about John, but he didn't lie about his encounter at the supermarket where the zombie woman charged him at the hardware store.

"Oh God. Weren't you scared?" She asked with a tint of admiration in her voice, happy to hear from someone who had been through a similar experience.

"I'm sure I was just about as scared as you were."

The tyre now changed, Craig stood up and wiped his hands on his jeans. He winced slightly as he felt the onset of pins and needles in his feet from having crouched down for so long.

Turning to face her, he was comforted to see a grateful smile. "Thanks."

"No problem." He smiled back. "Us alive people have gotta stick together."

"Yeah." She mumbled idly, suddenly uncomfortable with the veiled suggestion.

He had to keep her talking, "Hey Julia, did you bring anything with you when you left?"

"Nah, not really. Why?"

"Well, I'm planning to head somew-… what?" Julia was looking over his shoulder, a cold stare into the distance and rigid with nervous fear. Craig followed he line of sight and saw a figure running towards them from a farmhouse. The unrelenting power of the figure's pumping legs in a unwavering sprint gave it away immediately in Craig's eyes. 

A dirty zombie, he spat into the dirt at the thought of the wretched creature.

"Julia, get in the car! Go!" she stood frozen staring at the figure, squinting, trying to discern exactly who it was. Or what it was.

Craig ran back towards his car. "Just drive! Follow me!"

"Who is it?" she asked innocently.

"It's one of those things!" he barked back, suddenly furious with her hesitation. Even now she still persevered to identify the rapidly encroaching runner.

Craig was losing patience, fast. "Julia, get in your car and follow me. NOW!"

The sharp crack of his shout seemed to wake her from her curiosity, flinching as though she had been slapped in the face. Suddenly, the gravity of the threat registered as she saw the streaks of blood that soaked the clothes of the crazed attacker, closing in. Snapping into action, she quickly climbed in and gunned the engine, surprising Craig as she rocketed away, her tyres spitting dust and stones into his windshield as he followed in behind her. He had to floor the accelerator to keep pace, but securely filed in behind as the zombies shrunk and finally disappeared in his rear view mirror.

Afraid she had lost her cool and would tear down the road in a crazed hurry, Craig was pleasantly relieved as she eased back and glided along at 90 kmph, taking in the sweeping bends and open bitumen.

After a couple of minutes of clear surrounds and the zombie left far behind them, Craig beeped his horn and motioned for Julia to pull over. She did so slowly and Craig filed in behind by the roadside.

With a start, she jumped out of her stationary car and immediately scanned the countryside like a meerkat as Craig jogged up to her.

"Julia, I think w-.."

"Was that one of those things?" she interrupted again coldly.

"Yeah, I think so. We lost 'im." Craig murmured and gestured reassuringly with calming open hands. "That's the good thing about being out here at least. We got plenty of time to spot them, but we can't stick around here long."

Julia stared off into the distance and then looked back to Craig. "What do you think we should do?" Whatever apprehensions about new company were lost as she looked for guidance. Craig paused a moment as he recognised the face of a confused and scared child looking for her daddy to tell her what to do. His kids had done that before. Strange he remembered that and even stranger when he considered he was probably only just old enough to be her father at a stretch.

"Look my car is almost out of fuel. I've got heaps of food and a gun. Do you mind if I load up your car and tag along with you?"

Julia eyed him a little warily, but was obviously tempted with the prospect of company. "Well.."

"Trust me. We've got a much better chance if we stick together."

"Well, yeah. You'd better do it quickly. I'll watch for those things again." She reached into her pocket and the Audi's boot popped open. Opening smiling at having won her momentary trust, Craig gingerly turned back towards his car and started loading his supplies into hers. It was only now that he realised the axe was missing, lost at the hardware store and cursed inwardly.

Julia turned and curiously eyed Craig picking up a few of the heavy plastic bags out of his car. "What kind of stuff have you got?"

"Uh… number 5 with black bean sauce…. Haggis….." he joked.

"Haggis? What?"

Craig straightened and smiled. "Joking. I've just got canned beans, spam. That sort of thing."

She giggled, embarrassed for having been so gullible, but glad for the brevity.

"Alright." He slammed the boot shut. "Done."

"Good." She nodded and moved to climb back into her car.

Craig couldn't help but take a moment to regard the stolen, no… 'commandeered', Commodore. It seemed strangely wrong to have stolen his first car and then decided to leave it for dead only hours later. Too bad for John's baby.

The purr of the Audi's engine coming to life pulled him away from his thoughts, prompting him to climb inside and immediately marvel at the plush and clean interior. "This is a much nicer car than mine." He blurted.

"My Dad bought it for me when I started work last year." She gloated proudly.

Craig was stunned, "Your Dad…. bought this for you?" Were she not attractive, he might have entertained the notion he should be angry at her for being a spoiled brat. But she seemed nice enough.

"Yeah. When I passed my course, he bought me a new car as a pressie." She bit her lip sheepishly, detecting Craig incredulity. "Yeah, I'm spoiled."

"You're damn right about that" he joked.

"Before you get any ideas-" she looked Craig right in the eyes with a suddenly very serious and straight face, before softening into a smile. "-I'm driving."

"Yes ma'am." Craig shrugged happily, raising his hands as though surrendering. "Hey, how much petrol you got?"

"Three quarter tank. I filled up not long ago."

"Nice work." He gave a thumbs up and an approving smile.

Julia pulled the gear lever to D and the car briskly and smoothly pulled out onto the road again. "So where should we go?"

"I'm thinking we should drive along the coast until we find a really deserted spot and camp in or find a sturdy house. I figure the further we are away from the zombie things, the safer we'll be."

"OK. Sounds like a plan" she nodded.

Concentrating on the road before her, she didn't notice Craig tracing his eyes along her body, taking in her figure. Nice tits, nice car, he thought to himself. His fingers absently drifted towards his crotch. Yeah, a nice deserted spot with this girl, on her knees sucking my-

His day dreaming halted as Julia caught him staring.

He smiled as innocently as he could and turned to watch the horizon dribble passed as though nothing had happened.

She smiled back awkwardly, adjusting her grip on the steering wheel.


	4. Some company

**CHAPTER 4 **

Craig felt slightly uncomfortable in the leather and wood grain of Julia's silver Audi. It was quiet and disconnected compared to the grumbling vibrations he was used to in his old Toyota now sitting empty and idle back in the hotel car park in Frankston, over 50 kilometres away

It wasn't long before they passed through a small town. It was a bit of a stretch to call it a town, Craig thought. It was one of those place where if you didn't see a sign specifically identifying the area as a town with a name you would have just assumed the solitary general store and houses dotted here and there wasn't even on the map.

Still, they approach cautiously, eyeballing every direction on the look out for stray zombies or survivors.

They found none.

The landscape seemed so empty, even for this part of the world.

As they left the 'town' a sign showed more places neither of them had heard of before and a place called "Inverloch" which Julia had been to before for a New Year's celebration with her friends once. A holiday spot, known primarily for it's beaches, which, given it was Autumn now and Winter was approaching quickly, would likely be quiet this time of year.

Julia switched on the radio to listen for further news and only one station was still available. The others were either out of range (which was very possible) or shut down (also very possible). The reports were depressing, but neither of them wanted to switch it off. It was more of the same, but everything seemed somehow worse. The current death toll was estimated to be over 2 million in Melbourne alone. Both of them baulked at the ridiculousness of the number. It comprised almost a third of the population and it was only 10am. How the fuck can that happen?

As though sensing the disbelief, the calm newsreader man offered to explain. The vast bulk of deaths it seemed was due to the seemingly co-ordinated culmination of the blood flu. It seemed as though every second person had mysteriously died during the night and re-animated. It was only a fraction of the total death toll, it was estimated, that were the result of violent attacks. Nevertheless, a fraction of a big number is still a big number, Craig shrugged.

But like a rollercoaster ride, the shock of the report was only a precursor for a bigger one. Reports were flooding in that similar situations were permeating throughout the entire country and indeed the rest of the world.

It had been reported throughout the preceding week that the blood flu epidemic was sweeping across the civilised world, but now the connection was being made and pandemonium was breaking out. Destruction, murder, devastation. At first hard to fathom locally, it was now emerging on a global scale.

Unable to listen to more, Julia switched the radio off, but couldn't escape the topic. "Craig, did you have to leave a family behind?"

Craig feigned a hurtful frown. "Yeah. I tried to contact them, but I couldn't get through. They moved interstate about a year ago." He shifted in his seat and looked out of the window to his left to avoid eye contact. "Wife… well ex-wife and 3 kids. Girl and two boys….. I just have to pray they're OK."

"I'm sure they are." Julia replied sympathetically. His lie was obviously working. "By the time I ran off and heard the reports on the radio, I was, like, more than 100 kilometres away from where my Mom and Dad live. I tried to call, but I couldn't get through. The phone wouldn't ring."

"Where do they live?"

"Ivanhoe." 

A relatively rich suburb, leafy and green about 15 kilometres north east of the city. Busy roads would have made it extremely difficult to escape by car, he noted grimly. There was no doubt, they were dead or soon would be.

"Well, I'm sure they-"

"I had enough time to cry for them before you showed up." She interrupted, her voice tinged with frustration and anger, before she quickly calmed. "I just hope they're…. not one of them. I couldn't bear the thought." Julia tightened her grip on the wheel as her voice trailed off, welling emotion constricting her throat.

"Same here." Craig nibbled one of his fingers as he watched clumps of wispy grass zoom by on the roadside. "I mean, my guys. My family… 'cept for Kathy. Bitch can rot for all I care."

Both Julia and Craig flinched at the comment; Julia because she was disturbed by his callousness, Craig for realizing he shouldn't have said it. If I'm was going to win some of her trust, I have to be more… caring, he surmised, berating himself quietly.

"I shouldn't say things like tha-"

"No, you shouldn't."

He had to change the subject. Searching for a new topic, he was suddenly aware of the vacuum that had crept into his stomach. He hadn't noticed it before, and he suddenly realised he was starving.

"Hey, it's almost 10. I don't know about you, but I'm hungry. I haven't eaten properly since… well not yet today."

Her face brightened at the suggestion. Obviously she hadn't eaten either and relished the opportunity to take a moment and have some breakfast. "Yeah, OK. Should I just pull over here?"

Craig scanned the road ahead, his gaze drifting right. "Hey, there's a house all by itself in that field over there. Maybe it's empty."

"You think?"

"Well, if there's a zombie we'll just keep driving, but, who knows, there might be people."

"Alright." She disengaged the cruise control and let the car roll along, slowly losing speed. Her heart rate climbed as they approached the roadside entrance and slowly pulled into the driveway. Dust wafted up behind them as they left the asphalt and crept down towards the small house. 

Craig readied his pistol, but was wary of Julia eyeing nervously. She had probably never seen a real one before, let alone fired one.

"Don't worry. We shouldn't need to use this, whatever the case may be."

The farmhouse was an old white weather board single story house, devoid of any garden. Water restrictions in recent times had likely necessitated the thirst-driven death of whatever flowers and shrubs that might have brightened the place up. Now it just looked dreary and somewhat run down, but very much clean enough to abide by and live in. It looked like it did the job it was supposed to.

Chicken wire and wooden posts lined the boundary of the front and side yards, but they were token fences. A halfway decent cough of wind likely would blow the whole apparatus over. 

A recent model Holden Commodore, a generation or too newer than John's, and an older looking utility were parked across the front yard.

No movement.

Julia pulled to a stop a few metres away from the other parked cars, her hands trembling nervously on the steering wheel. Both of them jolted as she clumsily shoved the gear lever to P. Apologising with a small shrug, she killed the engine and they both sat in silence, eyeing the front looking for movement, or some other indication someone might be home.

Craig broke the silence in a half-whisper, "You wait here. I'll check the front door." He lifted the pistol up, showing it off for Julia as a reminder of his capability.

Her fear started rising at the prospect of being left alone, but she swallowed it down, "OK, just be careful."

"Don't worry." He slipped his fingers over the door latch and tugged lightly. The passenger door popped ajar and he carefully pushed it all the way open, stepping out slowly and easing his shoe down on the driveway gravel.

He paused midway through the door opening and waited a few seconds before he pulled his other foot out from the front seat, also placing it carefully on the gravel. A small voice in the back of his mind berated him for being so cautious and nervous, but it was quickly drowned out by his quickening heartbeat.

A quick nod back to Julia to reassure her signalled the end of his hesitation and he moved to step forward. However, he was so focused on watching the front door of the farmhouse that he caught his leg on the edge of the door and stumbled forward, stepping loudly into the gravelled ground, breaking the nervous silence.

He froze.

Images of bloodthirsty zombies streaming out through the front door like a black wave of water threatened to panic him, but he managed to see through the flashing illusion and eyed the front door, still innocently closed.

Nothing.

Relieved, he sucked in a deep breath to remedy the burning sensation in his lungs, before pulling his pistol up and in front of him, enclosed in a two handed grip, mimicking what he saw the cops do on TV. He stepped further towards the house, trying to minimize the sound of the gravel scraping against his footfalls.

Step after step he slowly approached the house until he reached the wooden front porch, quickly checking left and right. He looked for the front windows, but they were draped with curtains and he could see nothing.

Finally, the front door came within reach and he quietly grasped the handle, turning slowly.

Unlocked. 

Many country houses were. Possibly, it was a mixture of a trusting country nature and the distinct possibility that there might not be much to steal anyway.

Flinching slightly as the door knob squeaked in his grip, it finally reached the end of its rotation and the door slackened in his hand. Thankfully, the door did not squeak like the handle did as it slowly swung open. He had to suddenly stifle the instinct to pull the door closed and run away, as though fearful a zombie was perversely waiting right behind the door just for him. A torn and demonic hand might reach out and clutch him, he supposed, pulling him into a hellish darkness from which he could never hope to escape. 

Angry for his childish fear, he cursed softly and shoved the door open, determined to prove his irrational fears wrong.

And so they were. The open space revealed a bare hallway, strangely clean and shining against the sunshine that dribbled in from behind him. The smooth walls were a soft glow of peach, matching nicely with the rustic, but polished floorboards. It was an inviting country feel and at odds with the near dilapidation of the exterior. Maybe that was the intention. To trick outsiders into thinking the place was a dump to prevent unwanted attention. Obviously the ploy hadn't quite worked in this case, as Craig brought his attention back to the task at hand.

A closed white door on each wall preceded the end of the hallway a few metres down that branched left and right in a T junction. He couldn't see any further into the house, but hurriedly stepped forward and inside before his mind had a chance to play further tricks on him. Hunched over and looking down the sights of the pistol, he crept up and fingered the handle of the door on the left. With a quick count, he shoved the door open and stepped into the open doorway, pistol trained up in front and darting back and forth looking for potential targets.

All was still. It looked like a lounge room with a large Arabic rug carpeting the boarded floor, protecting it from a couple of brown leather couches sitting below a large landscape painting on the wall. The set up would otherwise have radiated calm and relaxation, but Craig was simply thankful it was empty.

Suddenly aware of an icy cold touch on the back of his neck, he snapped around and faced down the hallway, gun up and nervous. Scanning the empty space, he could feel the cool air wafting in through the still open front doorway, soothing as it tickled the beads of hot sweat gathering on his brow.

Just the wind, he sighed and settled on the other door a couple of steps away. Tensing for a moment and counting to three again, he shoved the door open to see a neat and made up double bed and closed wardrobe.

Nothing again.

Relaxing slightly, he back tracked out into the hallway and eyed the T-junction up ahead. Thank god I'm wearing old sneakers and not my heavy orchard boots, he mumbled as he stepped quietly over the wooden floor.

As he approached, he stole glimpses of light and open space beyond and nervously adjusted his sweaty grip in the pistol. Licking his dry and cracking lips, he was suddenly and achingly aware of how thirsty he was.

Nearing the end of the hallway, he gripped the gun again and side stepped off to the left, catching a fleeting glimpse of another hallway leading outside and lined with two more doors, both closed. Snapping around to the right, he swept his gun sights over a kitchen and lounge area. Scanning intently and finding no movement, he relaxed his shoulders. 

Much like the rest of the house, the area exuded a luxury and cleanliness that belied the house's peeling shell. It was like stepping into the TARDIS from Doctor Who.

It was an open plan area taking advantage of the light that streamed in through a skylight, giving it all a sharp and bright glow, amplified by the sparkling stainless steel sink. Whilst the room was warm and inviting, Craig noticed the light had a converse effect on the TV parked across the kitchen. Any program would have been rendered invisible under the glare short of closing all windows and covering the skylight. 

Obviously the room was set up so anyone preparing dinner could watch the TV at the same time. Paradoxically Craig noticed, if you had to close the blinds to watch the TV, then you couldn't rightly see what you were chopping on the bench top.

Enjoying an inward chuckle at the thought, his eyes settled in a piece of paper lying on the kitchen bench. It seemed out of place with the rest of the room's neatness. He stepped over to read it:

"Dear Alice,

If you are reading this it means we are in Rome having a great time and you have the house to yourself. Some meals are in the fridge for you.

Have fun!

Mum and Dad"

Taking a moment to mull over the letter's contents, he adjusted his loose grip on the pistol. Either Alice hasn't come here yet, or she's hiding somewhere, he concluded.

From what he could make out, the two doors in the hallway behind him were the only places he hadn't properly checked yet. Wiping away an encroaching beat of sweat that dribbled out of the tangled confines of his eye brows, he raised the gun up again and crept down towards the first door.

His shoulders were starting to ache from the weight of the pistol and the tension in his muscles, but he ignored it as best he could as he reached for the door and he thrust it open. An empty laundry presented itself, clean with a distinct odour of bleach and detergents. Forget clean, it was nearly immaculate, he murmured to himself quietly.

Satisfied, he walked on towards the last door, supposing it must be the bathroom. With another shove, the door opened and confirmed his suspicion. Pearly white purity and cleanliness almost blinded him as sunshine tore through another skylight and reflected everywhere.

Through the glare, he confirmed it was empty save for another closed door in the corner. The toilet.

His bladder eagerly reminded him he hadn't relieved himself for a long while and pleaded for the chance to do so. Afraid of pissing himself on the stop he lurched for the door, pushing it open.

He had only a moment to register the hands that suddenly shot out through the open doorway and reached for him. Taken completely by surprise, he tumbled backwards into a tiled wall and coughed and choked as the breath was rudely forced out of his lungs.

Through the blur of hands and fingers trying to tear at his face, he saw the bed sheet white face of a young woman, her eyes wide open like an owl's. They seemed impossibly huge and grey. There was no doubt she was undead.

Desperately trying to slap her hands away, he managed to snake his foot up and into her stomach. With a heave, he kicked her away, yelping as her hands tore away strands of his hair in a deathly grip. 

Before he had a chance to get to his feet, she already seemed to rebound back and was on top of him again. Exasperated and tired, he tried to keep her face at bay without letting a finger slip between her teeth. Almost crying and begging as she pulled herself down to him with inhuman strength, he tried to scream for Julia but his lungs refused to co-operate.

As though sensing her prey's fear, she reached her mouth towards one of his exposed wrists, causing Craig to flinch his hand away in alarm.

It was his saving grace as his eyes finally drew away from the ghostly visage of his attacker to the gun still clutched in his palm right in front of his face. Even the undead woman stared at the weapon for a moment before she pressed on and attacked again, clawing and pulling mercilessly. 

The scene at the hardware store flashed before him and he knew instantly what to do. New strength finding its way into his arms, he adjusted his other hand and clutched it around her throat, ignoring the freed arms that stabbed down at him. In a smooth and quick motion, he lifted her head up and shoved the pistol into her face, missing her mouth but finding one of her nostrils. Unaware of the skewed aim, he pulled the trigger and closed up in anticipation of the loud discharge and the coming mess.

The sharp crack of the weapon seemed much louder than last time and everything disappeared in a mute blackness. Slowly he opened his eyes and saw the broken and bleeding face of the ghastly monster still clutched in his left hand. She didn't look real. She was more like a mannequin, limp and white as he let her fall out of his grip and tumble back on the floor under the basin.

Only now he saw the lumpy spray of blood and flesh that coated the previously spotless tiled wall across the way. Chunks of flesh and thick blood dribbled down the smooth surface, steadily gathering into a puddle on the floor.

A sudden blur of movement in his deaf world back out into the hallway caused him to snap the gun over to shoot it down, but he thankfully recognised it was only Julia. He couldn't hear her screaming, but he could see her recoil in shock at the scene before her, turning away to vomit on the wooden floor in great heaves.

Like a tired old man, he simply sat in the floor, not bothering to pull his legs out from under the dead woman's slumped body. He just wanted to sleep. It was calm here. No noise, he smiled as though in a dream.

An intense ringing in his ears painfully wrenched him out of the reverie. Through the high pitched whine, which was already receding, he could hear Julia's faint choking. It grew louder like a crescendo as though someone was very slowly turning the volume knob up until his hearing returned.

"Julia." He mumbled.

Warm. 

Something felt warm, he noticed.

He looked himself over, trying to find where the sensation was coming from, but froze up in disgust when he found it.

He had pissed himself.

Strangely the sight of the dark stain of his pants and the sickly warm feeling in his crotch disgusted and reviled him more than the bloody mess next to him. He turned over and retched onto the floor. There was nothing to vomit as he hadn't eaten since last night. Water filled his eyes as soft and gentle fingers massaging his scalp and ran through his hair.

It felt nice. It felt like cold streaks of icy water on his burning head, cooling his writhing scalp.

"Craig, are you OK?" Julia's soft voice help calm the wracking spasms, halting the flow of hot bile that dribbled down on the floor.

Finally the heaving receded, replaced by sharp and painful coughs. He looked up at her, but she was blurred through his tears, making her seem ethereal.

"I'm OK." He coughed. "I got her. I got Alice."


	5. Feeling peckish

**Author's note: Dead Opportunities is going through a complete re-write at the moment. New chapters have slowed daramatically whilst I do this. I am taking this task quite seriously to inflate the first Book from 65K words to closer to 100k and preparing it as a proper manuscript for consideration by an agent or even to publish it on my own website. I think the new chapters are much more polished and deeper than they were before, delving into Craig's mind much more to help you understand him and the action is more graphic and gripping.**

**I still intend for Dead Opportunities to be a Trilogy. I have many ideas in the back of my mind and I need to restruture Book I to better fit into the continuity. The ending of Book I is likely to change and more characters will feature.**

**I** **would very much appreciate any reviews with regards to these new chapters and I will likely re-write them and polish them again at a later stage. ****Many thanks to all who have given their patronage to my work and left reviews and comments. They are very important to me and I give them my utmost attention.**

**Kind regards,**

**Hoobajoo**

CHAPTER 5 (re-written)

Craig stepped heavily out towards the front door of the farmhouse. His hands were still shaking and his nose and eyes still dribbling from the adrenaline of the zombie encounter in the bathroom. He tried his best to ignore the wet rubbing in his crotch, but he couldn't help feeling intensely embarrassed as Julia fussed over him.

"It OK. It's alright." She kept saying.

The house just seemed to move along in a grey blur as his tired legs carried him down the hallway. The front door was still open and mid morning light streamed in illuminating the hallway. It all seemed like a confused dream, but he pushed on with tired legs until they were outside.

"Where are we going? Are we leaving?" Julia enquired hoarsely, supporting Craig as he stumbled into the sun.

Stumbling groggily, Craig tried to pronounciate eloquently, but all he got was a confused look when he blurted, "Piss. Clothes."

Suddenly and despite the brightness, everything started going dark and Craig saw his hand reach out for the car door just as he fainted. Mercifully, he was unconscious before his weight slowly spilled out of Julia's failing arms and thudded down into the dust.

Slowly, an old and delicate ceiling fan came into view, focussing into its crisp presence from the foggy blur. With a blink, everything snapped into clarity and he felt a warm blanket over his body.

He tried to lift his head, but immediately regretted doing so as a sharp headache shot through his forehead, feeling as though his eyeballs were being stabbed from inside by thousands of tiny needles. Groaning, he resigned his head back down on the pillow.

XXX

It took a moment, but he finally remembered where he was. He did not recognise the bedroom at first and the softness of the mattress and the material of the blanket weighing down on him were foreign and much plusher than he was accustomed to. Tempted by the bed's comfort, he relaxed and eyed the window to his left, covered by lacy curtains.

Strangely, it was quite dark. The last memory he had was that it was morning. Where's the sun shine? He frowned at the question.

As though sensing his puzzlement, Julia stepped into the doorway, smiling warmly and cradling a tray in her arms.

"Hey Craig. You OK?"

"Dunno. Tired." He mumbled through sticky teeth and around a dry tongue that felt as though it was three times larger than it should be. "What time is it?" he asked with a cough.

"It's a bit after 6. You've slept all day." She said shyly, stepping into the bedroom and laying the tray down on the nightstand next to him. 

"Are you serious?" he baulked and tried unsuccessfully to hold back a series of small coughs.

"Uh huh, you slept all day."

The sight of a noodle soup and tall glass of water seemed to waken his stomach as it growled and bubbled. After all, he remembered, he hadn't eaten since the night before and he had drank a lot. 

Wary of the pulsing headache that threatened to erupt if he hoisted himself up, but eagerly eyeing the tray, he paused a moment before choosing the food. Julia moved to help him up as he grunted painfully, letting him take another moment as he sat in a daze and waited for his mind to clear and the dancing stars and colours in his eyes to fade.

"You must be starving. Here. I got you some chicken noodles." She offered, setting down the tray onto Craig's lap as he breathed in the warm steam and spiced chicken aroma. It was all fake flavouring and reeked of artificiality, but his headache seemed to subside slowly regardless. A hungry man could eat a turd and swear it tasted like chocolate, he joked privately. Maybe this will actually taste like chicken.

"Thanks, Julia. You are a goddess." He thanked her casually, reaching for the spoon and dipping it into the oily water unaware of Julia's uncomfortable smile. Although his hand trembled a little, he managed to get it to his lips and he recoiled slightly at the hot sting of the boiled water. His stomach urged him on and he shoved the spoon in his mouth, both relishing and wincing at the pain on his tongue and down his throat as he swallowed. It burned terribly, but it warmed him almost instantly, as though it signalled for his body to switch back on again like an engine turned by a key.

He coughed and spluttered as droplets of steam and water tickled his dry throat, but he reached down nonetheless for another serve. 

It didn't taste like chicken, he thought. Vexed by the strange taste, he felt the only way to describe it was that it tasted.. well green.

Nonetheless, Julia sat down on the bedside and smiled again, proud that her little soup was having an immediate effect on her ailing little hero.

Down went more spoonfuls with greater ease until his throat grew accustomed to the temperature. "What happened after I blacked out?" he asked sheepishly whilst looping some noodles around a fork.

"I brought you in here and cleaned up the mess in the bathroom. You're heavy, by the way." She grinned lightly as Craig slurped down the noodles. "I locked up the house and cleaned everything up."

"You should have bundled me in the car. We are vulnerable here if we ever get attacked." He berated her, and instantly wished he hadn't as her bubbly demeanour deflated. 

"Yeah, I didn't think of that." She mumbled, staring down at the floor.

He had to bring the mood back up again. "Hey, it's alright. Nothing happened, right? No harm done." He smiled as warmly and disarmingly as he could. "We'll just know what too do next time, huh? We'll look out for each other. Thanks for looking out for me."

Her head lifted and a welcoming smile returned to her smooth face. "Thanks, Craig. Oh hey! I forgot to tell you. The bathroom's clean and the hot water is still working, so you can have a shower if you are up for it."

He could feel the sharp spines of his stubble under his chin dig and scratch uncomfortably into his neck. His skin felt so oily and clogged. A shower would be perfect. And some clean clothes. Maybe the owners have some, he wondered.

His face darkened as he remembered the undead woman, Alice, who jumped him in the bathroom.

"Where is she now?"

"I found a horse trough by the side of the house. I turned it over and covered her with it."

"Were there any other zombies around?" he asked cautiously.

"Nope. Nothing. I've just been watching movies all afternoon waiting for you to wake up." She replied with a surprising casualness.

"Really?" Although surprise, he supposed if you were semi-trapped in a house and couldn't go outside all day, what else were you supposed to do to wile away the time? "Any good movies?"

"Not really. I've been watching Titanic and all the special features."

"Sounds boring."

"Yeah, well. The only TV on is the news." She replied grimly.

"What's the latest?" he asked, not expecting an encouraging answer.

"Well, to put it bluntly everyone's dead. There's hardly anyone left alive." She said matter-of-factly.

XXX

Craig stepped out of the shower, his circulation having brought colour back to his skin and warmed him all over. The massage of the shower was like a waterfall at a hot spring. Fantasies of a far away tropical island in the sun, admiring the crystal clear surf lifted his spirits, but his cocked lifted higher when images of topless dancing girls complemented the scene.

Looking down on his throbbing member brought his mind back to Julia, sitting on the couch in the next room. It urged him on, trying to coax him into charging into the lounge room naked and fucking her on the spot on the couch. The tingle of his fingers working their way up and down his shaft further accentuated the appeal, but his head won over. 

It would be unwise to simply attack her. Better to win her trust. Who knows? Maybe she'll give it freely, he concluded hopefully.

He stepped out, dried off and reached down for the clothes he had picked out earlier. The owners had a relatively clean and functional range of clothes and the husband, thankfully was about the same size as Craig. The white polo shirt was a little tight around the shoulder and the trousers were a little uncomfortable around the crotch, but they were better than his own dirty examples. Only now in the insidiously clean bathroom were the rank odours of his tattered excuses for fashion apparent.

Further, he had a girl to impress. A thin woollen jumper pulled over the polo shirt completed the look, his little transformation was not yet complete. 

On the basin, he eyed an electric shaver still plugged into the wall. Much like many of the various furniture, fittings and appliances in the rest of the house, it appeared to be a relatively expensive accessory. With a soft nudge with his thumb, the rotors inside buzzed to life. The head had to be emptied several times as his small beard was thicker than the little machine was designed for, but it got the job done. The stubborn hairs on his throat were more difficult to remove cleanly and stinging breaks in his skin were left behind after they finally relented and were cut away.

Despite the harsh sting of some aftershave, it felt good to have a clean face. Clean all over for that matter.

Casually, he put the aftershave back in the medicine cabinet, but froze as something caught his eye. He didn't quite know what it was, but something caused him to investigate. On the shelf below, he fingered a small plastic bottle and turned it around to see the label.

He didn't recognise the medicine's name, however the slogan below cheerfully betrayed its purpose.

'For a good night's sleep."

Sleeping pills.

Excited, he grabbed the bottle and read the instructions, "Take 2 tablets dissolved in water for 8 hours sleep. Maximum dosage per day. Do not exceed."

Carefully, he placed the bottle back on the shelf, turning the front label away from view.

A pulsing erection rose as he pictured Julia fainting after somehow being slipped a heavy dose of the little tablets. Her naked and vulnerable body just lying there for the taking…

XXX

"Feeling better?" Julia chirped as Craig entered the kitchen. "The shower's great isn't it?"

"Yeah." Craig replied, guarded. Her enthusiasm had caught him somewhat surprised. She was smiling. A hint of warmth tinged the air. "What's up?"

"How are you feeling?"

"Much better." Craig answered truthfully. He felt fantastic now. The sleep had done wonders for him and the noodles had softened the black hole that was his stomach. The warmth in the air rose and he detected a whiff of meat and gravy wafting throughout the kitchen from behind her. "Do I smell dinner?"

"I thought you would figure it out." She replied playfully. Stepping to the side, she revealed steaming plates of what looked like roast beef with peas, mashed potato, carrots and mushrooms. "These must have been the meals Alice's Mum and Dad had made for her. You hungry?"

"Definitely." He licked his lips eagerly.

"You're paying." She joked as they sat down. She had set the table with water and a cold beer for each of them.

Craig simply grabbed the knife and fork and tore into his meal eagerly as Julia watched for a moment and joined in. Sensing her hesitation and silence, he forced himself to refrain from his meal long enough to speak. "So, was everything OK while I was asleep?"

"Yeah, everything was fine. I kept watch, but there's no one around. We're on our own." Her voice trailed off.

"I still can't believe I slept so long. And now of all times." He said sheepishly.

"Hey' it's OK. I was here to cover our back." She stabbed her fork into a neatly cut square of beef. "Besides, in all likelihood, I owe you my life."

"How's that?" Craig replied, confused.

"If you didn't find me on the road when you did, that zombie thing that was running towards us probably would have got me." She smiled warmly.

Craig paused for a moment, wondering whether to reply with humour or emphasise his hero status. Humour won out. "I'm sure you would have been fine. You would've just beaten him off with a stick."

"I doubt that. In case you haven't noticed, I'm a spoiled brat and I swing like a girl." She joked, flicking her coal black fringe out of her eyes.

"You're a fine chef though."

"Oh yeah, I'm a gun on the microwave."

"Hey, I'm not complaining."

They both chuckled softly when the exchange concluded and they both went back to their meals in relative silence. Craig was feeling good about his efforts so far. It seemed like she trusted him, but he felt it was time to edge the conversation towards more personal ground to cement his position.

"So, did you have to leave many friends behind when you escaped?"

The question seemed to send a small jolt up her spine, as though she had been mildly electrocuted. "Yeah." She stammered. "Uh, y'know, people I worked with, friends from school and Uni. Quite a few, actually."

"I'm sorry." He replied, feigning sympathy before continuing with piled on incredulity. "No boyfriend?"

"No." she answered, giggling nervously as though it was obviously out of the question. "No, I've been too busy with study. I mean _had_ been. I have to get used to thinking all of that's gone now. No more study. No more money."

"No more debts. No more obligations now." Craig continued for her. He sat back in his chair and collected his thoughts as Julia paused, sensing an important point was forthcoming. "The way I see it, we've all had to leave behind or lose something very important. You have. I have. Our old lives are over."

She was about to insert another fort of beef into her mouth, but set it back down on the plate as she listened intently.

"There's no paid work for us to go back to. No more just going to the bank, drawing out money and going down to the shops to buy milk and bread. We'll have to make it ourselves. But the other side of the coin is that there's an entire world that's been emptied out. I dunno how it will happen exactly, but once this zombie thing goes away, there will be a whole world of opportunity to start again."

"You really think this whole mess will sort itself out someday?" she enquired shyly.

Craig grinned, "Yeah, I think this whole thing is going to blow over somehow, and those people left behind will have a whole new world to play with."

XXX

The news updates on the TV continued, but the usual 5 channels had been reduced to just one. Strangely, despite the grim flavour and hurried nature of the stories presented, the frontman was still as fresh and styled as ever.

The situation was worsening. All over the world the zombie plague was erupting unabated. America and Europe were drowning and the civilian population had been more or less abandoned as the powers-that-be consolidated into military bunkers and safe zones.

The president of the United States couldn't be reached for comment, but his key advisors were still available, and the remnants of the media throng barked and wailed their questions only to be regularly answered with confusion and unconfirmed theories. Nothing was concrete as to the cause of the virus that was burning across the globe. No doubt it was the infamous blood flu that preceded the zombie outbreak, but no one had any idea what it was or where it came from. 

Was it a mutation of the bird flu? Influenza? A leaked government super weapon? The precedent set down by zombie movies over the years fuelled the conspiratorial fire, but provided no useful help apart from the age old advice to "shoot them in the head."

Whatever the outcome, scientists were on the case to try and figure it all out, the media was assured.

As expected, surviving religious figures were having a field day. It was ironic, however, that many of the doomsayers were dead now. The very people that held up the Bible, Koran or whatever holy book they espoused, were crushed under the undead swarm they longed for and had warned would come. Just like everyone else.

Nevertheless, those that were still alive were acutely vocal and active. God was punishing the world, Allah was punishing America and Israel (even though the Arab states were also falling to the onslaught), or the second coming was afoot and only the strong would survive to see Jesus' return. Sadly, the Pope was not able to either join or rebuke the frenzy as it had been presumed he had died when the Vatican City was overrun. The news of his probable death helped skew the religious meanderings towards a darker direction. After all, if the Pope had not been spared, how can the rest of the human race hope to ascend to heaven or even just plain old survive?

Finally, the focus turned to Asia, which seemed to have been spared the worst of the initial outbreak. Japan had succumbed as did South East Asia, but mainland China, India and Eastern Russia seemed largely unaffected. Or so it seemed at least. It couldn't be confirmed whether they were in the midst of a gargantuan cover up or they were indeed somehow immune.

Time would tell. 

It was surreal to watch the end of the world unfold from the comfort of the leather couch. The scale of the devastation was already becoming a numb and broken record. Within the space of a day, the world was well on it's way to Armageddon. Both Julia and Craig just listened and took it in as though they were reporting the weather. The numbers of dead became meaningless statistic already. They were too large to properly fathom.

It was too late to care anymore now it seemed. Nothing could stop it. As Craig alluded, why not accept it and plan around it?

Why not rejoice in the release from conventional society? No one had to wake up at 6am to catch the bus to go to work in a suit in the morning. No one had to repay their mortgage anymore. If someone liked the Mercedes of their undead neighbour, they could just take it. Who is there to stop you, after all?

Craig made the mistake of mentioning the requirement to repopulate the world. Julia fell into an uncomfortable silence and he hastily tried to change the subject to something more endearing.

The ghastly reports continued on as the two survivors watched in near silence. Finally, Julia gave up under the weight of the crushingly depressing news and excused herself for bed. On the basis that there was only one bed in the house, Craig offered to sleep on the couch.

Julia disappeared inside the bedroom to get her clothes and Craig took the opportunity to set his plan in motion with a surge of anticipatory excitement.

Deftly, he filled a mug with milk and warmed it in the microwave. Once done, he dropped in four of the sleeping tablets he had slipped into his pocket before during a previous visit to the toilet and watched as they quickly fizzed and absorbed into nothingness. Finding a small vial of vanilla extract in a cupboard, he slipped a dollop in to counter whatever bitterness or artificiality they tablets may have added.

Just as he set her mug aside, Craig heard the bedroom door open again.

Quickly, he set about making a cup of coffee for himself, minus the tablets of course.

"I'm gonna have a shower before I go to bed. You staying up any longer?" she yawned.

"Yeah, I'll keep a look out. Here. I'm having a coffee to stay awake. You should have some warm milk to help you sleep." He offered graciously. She smiled at his apparent thoughtfulness and threaded her fingers through the mugs handle, gratefully accepting it and proceeding down towards the bathroom.

He looked down into his empty coffee mug, but it soon disappeared into a day dream. A fantasy of what he would do to her in her drug induced sleep….

His dick rose up in his pants, throbbing hard with anticipation.

It would take a while before the drug would take effect he surmised. A distraction of some sort was needed to pass the time.

The TV was still on and he noticed the DVD rack by the stand. One of the DVD's shone out and caught his attention. It was the Terminator. His favourite movie.

Trying hard to stifle his excitement, he popped the disc into the DVD player and settled down the couch.

It wasn't long before Julia emerged out of the shower, dressed in an oversized T-shirt that hung down to her knees. With a quick smile and wave, she bid him goodnight, set the mug down on the bench and disappeared. 

She definitely looked tired.

Craig checked the mug, pretending to wash it out and smiled when it revealed itself to be very empty.

XXX

"_He can't be bargained with, he can't be reasoned with. He doesn't feel pity, or remorse, or fear, and he absolutely will not stop! EVER! Until you are dead."_

That old line. His favourite old line. It never ceased to send a shiver up the spine or strangely send a message down to his bladder that it was time for a bathroom break. Cradling his flaccid penis in his fingers as the toilet water bubbled under the yellow stream, it stiffened as his thoughts turned back to Julia for the first time since he had put the DVD in.

It was time, he decided. It had been difficult to stifle the desire, but it had subsided when he willed his imagination to dive into the movie and picture himself at the Terminator.

Trying hard not to betray his excitement with a childish yelp, he bounded up to Julia's bedroom, catching himself at the closed door. Before he realised what he was doing, he had already opened it and proceeded to sneak inside. Before him he could make out a lump in the blanket amongst the gloom, but it was difficult to see. Nevertheless, it was obvious from here that she was asleep, but unknown to what degree. What she comatose as he desired her to be, or was she a light sleeper?

He crept inside until he was standing by her face. The blanket was tucked right up to her neck and she looked like the very picture of peaceful sleep. Her hair, it's dark shade of chocolate hidden by the darkness, was neatly tucked away from her face as though inadvertently advertising her moderate beauty to him.

"Julia" he whispered.

No response.

He touched her cheek with his fingertips.

She did not move one iota other than for the rhythmic rise and fall of her smooth and slow breathing.

His stomach and lungs strained to contain a squeal of delight. He felt he had never been this excited since primary school when his Dad bought him a new bike, an expensive BMX bike.

Just like his new bike, he was eager to give his new present a ride.

He reached out with both hands and carefully peeled back the blanket with his fingers, carefully sliding it off her body and across the bed in a bunched-up pile. She was on her side facing him and he gently guided her down onto her back, watching carefully for any sign she might awake, but was like a limp rag doll. Were it not for the minute rise and fall of her T-shirt, one could not be blamed to believe she was not amongst the living.

His hands felt like they were made of jelly as he carefully peeled back her top. The smooth outline of her stomach was only just discernable in the murky darkness, the light bending and curving around her navel. She wore panties of some sort, but he couldn't make out any detail.

This will not do, he decided. Quickly he turned for the light which had a dimmer switch below. Turning it down low, he switched the light on, bathing the room in a buttery soft bronze. Much better, he sighed as he returned back to her and resumed his delicate task. The T-shirt was large and bunched up beneath her back. Try as he might, it caught beneath her weight just shy of exposing her breasts. Wincing slightly, he managed to sneak a hand underneath her back and cradle her, sliding the T-shirt up to her shoulders, but teased his own desires by leaving the front of the garment still laying over her.

Slowly, he relished the sight of her breasts as he peeled the flap of fabric off like an artist meticulously removing a cover from a prized painting.

They seemed quite small and petite in the light, laying smooth against her rib cage by their own weight. Nevertheless, he was aching to engulf them in his mouth like a hungry animal, but he forced himself to proceed slowly, both out of caution and self punishing desire. He was not even aware until too late of the drop of saliva that escaped his slackened and open mouth until it slipped down like a raindrop and met with her cool skin right next to one of her nipples. Berating himself for the dirty inattention, he joked privately that he should now do the obvious thing and clean it off her. His hands suddenly felt very heavy as though they changed from the previous jelly to a numb metal, but he nevertheless proceeded to lay his palms gently down.

Her skin was cool and their softness was accentuated by his stiff fingers as he massaged them. Teasingly, he pinched her nipples between his thumb and forefingers, smirking dirtily as they tensed and rose from the stimulation. Taking a moment to revel in the sight of his work, they reminded him of small strawberries.

He longed to get his cock out and rub it on her breasts, to squeeze his aching erection between them, but he decided he wanted to know their taste first. Wrapping his lips around as much of her closest breast as he could, he could swear she tasted just like caramel. Her silken skin had a texture as much like it as he absently slipped a stray hand down her stomach towards her pelvis. The abrupt end of skin on skin contact, interrupted by the frill of the top of her panties was more than he could take. His head ceased to be in control and now his primal desire to fuck the life out of her was too much. Sighing expectantly, he recoiled back to remove his pants and free his groaning cock.

But before he had a chance, a loud crash from the window across the room startled him, sending him tripping back into the wardrobe behind him. A blurred dark figure somersaulted over the window sill, crashing heavily onto the floor underneath and disappearing behind the bed.

"Holy shit!" Craig shouted, hands up against his face as small flecks of glass pelted him from across the room. Julia stirred and awoke in a stupor.

There was a brief pause as Julia looked towards Craig, wasted and mumbling something incoherent.

A blank white face lifted up over the edge of the bed in a start, staring at Craig. It hadn't seen Julia yet as the crumpled bed sheets beside her shielded her from its field of vision.

Desperately, Craig grabbed Julia's arm and roughly pulled her up. Her neck whiplashed backwards from the force without resistance. With a great heave, he shoved her limp body towards the intruder as he rose with a snarl. Her arms splayed out, she collapsed down on him, sending them both tumbling back down across the bed and onto the floor below the broken window. 

Not wanting to waste his chance, Craig dashed for the open door and closed it behind him, but not before he saw the intruder wrestling with Julia in the corner of his eye. He also caught a glimpse of another dark figure topple through the loose curtain of the bedroom window, crashing on the pair and pinning them both down.

The door closed with a loud slam and he sprinted for the kitchen where he had laid his pistol earlier. He didn't notice the muted footage on the TV, blazing shotguns barking back and forth as he grabbed the gleaming weapon and brought it up before him with a start.

Training it back down the hallway, he whirled around again as a heard a dull thud behind him. A haggard woman in a dirty singlet was savagely banging her fists on the glass of the back door, streaking it with blood. Fear and panic shot through Craig's veins like ice water as he watched her bite the glass, scraping her teeth along it like nails on a chalkboard. Another figure suddenly materialised next to her, another woman it looked like from a mess of tattered hair, knocking the first woman over into a small pot plant on the outdoor tiles.

"Oh shit! Holy shit!" Craig couldn't breathe. It was too much. The walls seemed to be closing in and he couldn't think straight.

The struggling pair of attackers at the door managed to right themselves and resumed their barrage against the glass, their growls muffled, but loud enough to shrivel his previously bulging cock like a sultana.

In the midst of the panic, his eyes were drawn to the TV, the movie still playing and footage of the two heroes fleeing a car, firing wildly at their enemy in hot pursuit. For a moment, the muffled cries of the zombies by the door disappeared as his mind seemed to focus.

Out. He had to get out.

How? The car, he realised and saw them glittering feverishly under the kitchen lights like a puddle under harsh sunshine. The various keys and trinkets stabbed uncomfortably into his palm as he clutched them tightly and bolted down the hallway for the front door, not caring for his booming footsteps against the floorboards.

Eyeing the closed bedroom door warily, he continued on until he thumped into the front door. There was a small frosted glass window next to the dead bolt, but he couldn't see anything. It was pitch black outside it appeared.

Suddenly, he heard glass shattering behind him and yelped in fear as the two blood thirsty zombies tore through the kitchen towards him.

Lost for options, he yanked the front door open and threw himself out into the night. At first glance it appeared clear and he had the presence of mind to whirl around and close the front door behind him. No sooner than the latch clicked into place, it was tested by the full weight of the angry monsters crashing into it, but thankfully it held firm. 

Craig thanked whatever gods he could think of that these bastards didn't know how to use a door knob.

An ungodly scream from his right sent a bolt of lightening down his spine with a start and he unsteadily drew the pistol up to find another crazed zombie looking back through the gun's sights. Without even thinking, he pulled the trigger and it pierced the air with a loud crack. Strangely, he was suddenly aware it was the first time he had fired the weapon. He had purchased it two weeks ago from a man named "Bob", a fake name, from a local pub for $50. It was dirty and in poor condition, but it was likely going cheap because it was used in another crime, no doubt.

He cleaned it meticulously in his spare time, between stupefying bouts of binge drinking and grew to know the weapon's mechanics and operation. He dared to take it apart once and managed to successfully put it back together after a thorough clean, marvelling at the engineering of its insides. It had been purchased with the express intention of suicide and he hoped it would not fail him with a misfire when the time came.

It didn't fail him this time he noticed as the charging figure promptly fell face first into the dust boards of the front porch and remained still.

The night air seemed to freeze and he couldn't tell if he lost his hearing again through shock or it was indeed quiet. A growl from inside the bedroom through the broken window answered for him and he bolted for the car again.

It was hard to see it at first, its smooth form hidden partially in the moonlight by its pale silver hue matching the seemingly colourless surrounds, but he felt the driver's side mirror jab reassuringly into his waist as he stumbled into it.

Fumbling with the key, he managed to mash the door release button closed, but the breath was knocked out of him as something slammed into him from behind. A reflex driven arm swung around and swatted the attacker away savagely as he steadied himself and tried to find where it had fallen.

A blur of thrashing movement in the dirt by the back of the car caught his attention and thankfully his pistol was still in hand, quickly coming around and bearing down on the target. He couldn't tell whether it was a man or a woman, but it didn't matter. He fired down at the figure, but it seemed not to phase it as it continued to struggled back to its feet. Again he fired, flinching behind the blinding muzzle flash and the sharp crack that stunned his ears, only to see the zombie absorb the shot and plant its feet on the ground securely.

Cold sweat gathered on his forehead, seemingly vomited out through his skin as panic threatened to engulf his sanity. Desperately, his finger seemed to snap into action for him as the rest of his body froze and sent a series of rounds into the recoiling zombie, illuminating it like a strobe light with every shot. During the split instant of one of the flashes, Craig managed to register the zombie was a middle aged man right before his forehead exploded and he slumped to the ground.

Fearful of another attack and oblivious as to how many bullets his life-saving trigger finger had expended, he climbed into the car and brought the Audi to life with a twist of the key. He had to awkwardly twist his legs to get to the pedals. Julia had put the seat much too forwards for his liking, but he nevertheless managed to gun the car and explode down the driveway on to the main road without further incident. He didn't even realise which way he was headed, he didn't care. He just had to get away. The engine growled as it tore through the gear changes and relaxed back into a comfortable purr when his foot slipped off the accelerator.

Looking back over his shoulder, he couldn't make out any of the house in the dark night and settled back into the leather seat, conscious now of the encroaching ache in his calves from the uncomfortable driving position. Reaching for the switch by the doorside, he guided the seat back and down into a much more palatable place and sighed as he felt the blood return to his legs.

He felt elated. He had survived again. Laughing wildly as the blood and adrenaline gushed through his veins, the euphoria was soon replaced by a cold and worrying realisation.

Although he had escaped with his life, selfishly having thrown Julia to the wolves to save his own skin, it dawned on him that all of his supplies were left behind at the farmhouse.

He had nothing but the clothes on his back, a possibly empty gun and a car.


	6. Choose

**Author's note: Dead Opportunities is going through a complete re-write at the moment. New chapters have slowed daramatically whilst I do this. I am taking this task quite seriously to inflate the first Book from 65K words to closer to 100k and preparing it as a proper manuscript for consideration by an agent or even to publish it on my own website. I think the new chapters are much more polished and deeper than they were before, delving into Craig's mind much more to help you understand him and the action is more graphic and gripping.**

**I still intend for Dead Opportunities to be a Trilogy. I have many ideas in the back of my mind and I need to restruture Book I to better fit into the continuity. The ending of Book I is likely to change and more characters will feature.**

**I would very much appreciate any reviews with regards to these new chapters and I will likely re-write them and polish them again at a later stage. Many thanks to all who have given their patronage to my work and left reviews and comments. They are very important to me and I give them my utmost attention.**

**Kind regards,**

**Hoobajoo**

**CHAPTER 6 (re-written)**

The near miss back at the farmhouse has seriously rattled him. It was intensely frustrating that even in a seemingly deserted and secluded house, the zombies still found him and to rub salt in the wound had denied his fun with Julia.

He was angry at having thrown Julia as a shield so he could escape, not that he pitied her death or felt sorry for her, more that he was now left only with his right hand for company. It had been a few years since he had any worthwhile sex. The odd times he wasted his money on heroin addicted hookers and Thai sex slaves from South Melbourne didn't count.

Although he was currently flaccid, his adrenaline was pumping from the aftermath of the attack and he wanted someone, something, _anything_ to fuck.

Desperate for a distraction, his thoughts turned back to the farmhouse itself. Craig resolved that he would now need to find a place that was not only remote, but fortified. Windows were an obvious weakness, doors less so, but still a weakness nonetheless. Julia had related her story about how her flatmate had broken down her door to try and get to her.

He noticed the pistol laying in the cigarette tray on the dash and tried to remember how many shots he had fired. It was difficult enough to even recall shooting that zombie by the car, let alone how many times he pulled the trigger. He had somewhat frozen in the moment and his instincts had saved him. His conscious mind had shut down for a brief few seconds, only to return when he saw the monster fall dumbly to the ground with its head blown open from the nose up.

One hand on the wheel, he reached for the weapon and expelled the magazine into his lap. He almost ran the Audi off the road and cursed to see only one bullet left inside. Hopeful, he cocked the barrel and was glad to find another bullet coughed out of the chamber.

Two bullets only.

Besides that, all he had were his clothes, the empty car and a little more than half a tank of petrol. He sarcastically doubted that the cough lollies and spare packet of tampons in the glove box and spare change in the centre console would be of any use.

A sizeable road sign wafted into his headlights and disappeared again like a ghost. He only caught a glimpse of the places listed, Inverloch being the only one he recognised. It wasn't far. At this speed, he would arrive in only 20 or so minutes, but it would be infested with those undead freaks, he was sure. For all he knew, that's where the ones back at the farmhouse had come from.

Instantly, he felt the urge to turn the car around, but where would he ultimately go? he wondered. If he did manage to find a house somewhere safe, it would be effectively useless if it had little or no food. It would simply delay an inevitable death.

Food.

All those cans, packets and bottles he purchased from the Frankston supermarket were back at the farmhouse, either sitting in the fridge or the cupboards. Julia had collected them from the car and neatly packed them all away in the kitchen whilst he was asleep.

But was it feasible to go back there? How many zombies were there? he wondered. Casting his mind back, he recalled the two that tumbled through the window and the two that crashed through the back door. The one that jumped him at the car didn't look familiar compared to those four so he supposed it was a fifth assailant. Ah, plus Julia now, he sighed. There was no doubt that she would be one of them. She was probably stirring just now, even as those monsters continued to eat her.

So that made a minimum of five surviving zombies, he decided. He couldn't be sure if there were more. He had fled rather quickly.

Five zombies, two bullets and a car.

He gripped the steering wheel hard, weighing up his chances. The long and prominent bonnet of the large Commodore was quite persuasive, he thought. It couldn't be doubted that it was a large car and it was solid having been built from steel. No flimsy aluminium or fibreglass, he coughed. It was a heavy family car with a large engine and the front yard of the farm house did have a little room to manoeuvre, especially given the relatively long driveway. He could use it like a funnel, he decided. If the zombies were dumb enough to run right into the front of the car, he would be laughing and would be able to dispatch them all without a single bullet.

His mind made up and his resolve bolstered, he performed a U-turn and headed back. It was difficult to make out the houses and open paddocks on his left, looking down the flat countryside. The moon was out, but it was pitch black nonetheless, but it didn't take long to spot a soft golden glow in the distance. It was like a tiny lighthouse, signalling his destination.

No wonder they found him, he cursed. The bedroom light he had turned on had served as a beacon for them. If he had just kept the light off, he would likely be cumming on Julia's soft tits right now. Angry at his own ineptitude, he punched the dash board, cracking one of the air conditioning vents, but he didn't notice.

The house approached on his left and he saw the letterbox at the mouth of the driveway emerge in his headlights. Fury welled up inside him, bubbling up from his stomach and crept up his neck like rising water, mixed with the excitement and fear of the coming confrontation.

Turning slowly into the gravel driveway, his anger subsided almost completely as two ragged figures materialised in the white stabbing glow of the high beams. They seemed oblivious to the coming danger, but seemed to react to the growl of the engine as Craig shoved the accelerator pedal into the floor. The automatic gearbox took a split second to detect the command and the car lurched as it selected first gear and sent the tachometer needle snapping from the left to the right towards the redline in an instant.

All too late they turned and stared into the light, seeming to look passed it to Craig inside. Their bloodied and broken faces seemed strangely calm and vacate as the bonnet closed in and made contact on the first figure. Craig recognised her as the woman who had first pounded on the glass back door. Curiously, she seemed to comprehend what was about to happen and raised he hands defensively as the front bumper connected with her knees.

In the blink of an eye her body snapped forward, her head smashed into the A-pillar by Craig's head and she disappeared over the car.

Just as Craig opened his eyes again and looked through the cracked windshield, the other figure from the back door was right in front of him and her legs were kicked out from under her by the front bumper, hitting the number plate. In an instant, she also snapped forward, her head smashing into the centre of the windscreen, cracking it badly inwards, but it held. Thin flecks of blood splattered across the glass, following the cracks as she also disappeared up and over the roof.

Craig slammed on the brakes, the breath squeezed out of him by his tightened seatbelt as the car pulled to a bucking stop. He looked out the back window, but could barely see anything in the red glow of the rear brake lights. Fumbling, he reached for the gear lever and selected reverse, bathing the scene behind him in the stronger white light of the reverse bulbs.

There on the road, he could see two crumpled heaps. A tangled mess of broken arms, legs and torn clothes twitched, but the body of the first victim started moving. It raised its head and moved an arm, planting it on the ground as it tried to right itself.

Without lifting his eyes off the stubborn zombie, he poked his toes into the accelerator and sent the car speeding back towards them. The gearbox whined loudly and he had to adjust the steering wheel slightly to line the woman up to crush her under the tyres.

After only a moment, the two women disappeared from view beneath the back window and Craig braced himself as his side of the car bounced violently twice as expected. Smiling as he looked through the windscreen, he was satisfied to see the woman was now lying still while the other continued to twitch periodically. Her head was intact, so he must have snapped her spine or broken her neck, he supposed. If she were still alive, it didn't matter, he decided. She was stranded in the dirt and no longer a threat.

Their bodies seemed like ethereal ghosts or twisted angels in the headlights. Their pale skin was complemented by ragged white clothes that flapped softly in the evening wind. Craig reasoned scenes like this were common in war zones where bodies of unlucky civilians were simply left by the roadside, left to rot undignified in the hot sun. The thought that he was in a warzone sent an exciting shiver up his spine. It strangely didn't seem real, like he was in a video game or a story told by someone else. Maybe even a dream.

His meanderings were interrupted as two more figures emerged in the glow of the head lights. Craig recognised them from the bedroom. The two men who had jumped through the window.

In an instant and hungry for revenge, Craig pulled the gearbox into 'drive' and stabbed his foot down on the accelerator.

The car lurched again and the tyres tried to find grip in the gravel, spitting stones and dust into the air behind him. Unlike the first two attackers that fell to the car, these two were hell bent on running into their death. Their faces were a picture fury and insatiable hunger as their features became clearer in the light.

They were both soaked, _drenched_ in dark blood. Julia's blood.

Through the red blur as they ran towards him he could see their eyes, wide open and on fire.

Craig held the accelerator down as the tyres continued to dig into the gravel, growling like a dog as the moment of impact approached. He promised he wouldn't flinch this time. He wanted to see the look in their eyes as they died. He wanted them to see his own eyes stare them down and cast them back down to hell or wherever they came from.

The two zombies were side by side as the front bumper, cracked and bent, connected with their lower legs and they whipped down into the windshield. Like before, one of the zombie's heads connected with the A pillar on Craig's side and disappeared by the side of the car, leaving large flecks of blood across the side windows and doors. The other zombie was lined up closer to the middle and his head smashed into the windshield.

In an instant, the cabin was engulfed by glass and Craig recoiled with a scream, letting go of the wheel and bringing his arms up over his face out of reflex. His foot remained mashed down on the accelerator pedal and he was pinned back in his seat as the tyres found grip and thrust the vehicle forwards.

After the initial shock, he opened his eyes to see the zombie was right next to him in the cabin, its chest lying on the dashboard through the shattered windshield as it reached for him. Craig panicked, trying to swat the ghoul's blood slickened hands away, but they were unnaturally strong and slippery.

The force of the car's acceleration only aided the bloodthirsty monster as it pulled him deeper into the cabin. Through the mess of flailing arms, it managed to grab a handful of Craig's hair, pulling hard and causing him to yelp with pain and desperation as teeth enveloped his vision.

His mind raced, "SHIT! I'm dead!"

A sudden and painful whiplash coursed through his neck and Craig was thrust forward into a white nothingness. Stunned, he wondered what had happened and panicked when he found it hard to breath. Growing more hysterical by the second, he struggled to push through the haze and finally managed to free his face into the cold night air. Finally, he could make out it was an airbag that had exploded in his face and shrieked in fear when he remembered the zombie that almost got him.

Pushing the airbag to the side, he recoiled instantly and tried to bring the airbag back up again. The ghoul was still embedded through the windshield, but struggled and twitched angrily through a mess of steel that impaled him in several places, fixing him to the dashboard. Sharp pipes and shards of metal stabbed into its body, pinning his arms down and impaling his chest and stomach.

Craig would have winced and sympathised for the creature if it were human, but was thankful the makeshift spears kept it at bay. However, the creature snarled as it regarded Craig. Its head was still free and it furiously wriggled and pushed through the steel mess to try and bite him. With unholy determination, it was succeeding and slowly started to inch its body forward, bringing its head closer.

Craig squirmed in his seat, trying to flatten himself against it away from the encroaching monster as it coughed up thick clots of blood onto his lap. He grappled and pulled on the door latch but screamed in frustration as it refused to click open. The door frame had bent and jammed it closed. He was trapped.

Desperately, Craig searched for another option and saw his pistol lying in the passenger foot well. The short moment of relief was cut short when he decided the creature was too close and he wouldn't be able to reach for it without having to risk being bitten.

With great heaves, the zombie edged ever closed, biting the air in front of Craig's eyes like a crazed lion being teased with a juicy steak. Wailing and squealing, Craig's eyes searched for another way and settled on a shard of steel that poked through the windshield, now frosted and opaque from the cracks in the glass. Steeling his resolve, he cupped the airbag and shoved it into the monster's face. It struggled furiously in his grip, almost wriggling itself free as the smeared blood caused it to slip away, but not before Craig tensed his arm and shoved the creature's face into the metal.

A sickening crack and slurping sound defiled Craig ears as the shard pierced the skull and churned the soft brain inside. Instantly, the zombie convulsed and writhed as though it was being electrocuted and fell slack in his hands. With a sigh, Craig let the dirty airbag material slip from his hand, exposing the dead ghoul's face. He couldn't help but sit in a moment of curious fascination at the zombie's vacant stare, transfixed by its emptiness. Despite the obvious blood that was slathered across its skin and the horrible smell that escaped its mouth, it looked like it was just passed out. As though it had one two many drinks and was now hopeless wasted.

The sound of shuffling behind him brought him out of the trance. It appeared that the first zombie was still alive and was stumbling towards him from behind.

Sitting up, he saw movement in the rear view mirror. It was indeed the other zombie that had tumbled down the side of the car. Its left leg was hopelessly broken and it limped along the door line, using it for support. Although it was progressing slowly, it was very close and would soon be able to reach through the shattered side window.

Craig panicked and cursed, terrified of the slowly encroaching demon and searched the cabin for a weapon or some way to escape.

The pistol, his mind screamed and he saw it in the passenger foot well again. Oblivious through fear and desperation of the impaled zombie whose blood smeared into his clothes and bare skin, he squirmed and reached for it, finding his fingers touching the hilt of the weapon tantalisingly close, but just out of reach. His seatbelt dug into his stomach, pinning him back and preventing him from getting a solid handhold in the gun. He tried to loosen it, but it was stuck fast. The safety catch has engaged.

Frantic, he wriggled around and managed to adjust the belt from around his stomach down to his hips, giving more purchase. Stretching his body and willing his arms to suddenly grow longer as though they were made of elastic, he managed to clasp the pistol's barrel between his thumb and forefinger in a precarious grip just as he felt something slick rub against his exposed waist.

He whipped his head around to see the zombie snaking a broken arm in through the window, searching for him.

With a final lunge he secured his fingertips on the pistol and brought it around into his other hand just as his grip failed. Triumphantly, he felt the rough indentations of the handle bite and rub into his palm reassuringly as he shoved the gun into the zombie's gaping mouth and pulled the trigger.

A red mist shot out the back of the zombie's head and it whipped back violently, disappearing out of view having been thrown back by the blast.

The air was quiet, causing his ears to ring softly. Blood dripped down on Craig's right leg from the broken A pillar and also dribbled down and clumped together onto the dashboard from the impaled zombie in the windshield.

Craig stared out the window, the pistol still gripped hard in his hand and pointed out into the empty air.

He blinked as he listened for any sign of danger. Any sign that another zombie might present itself or one that he thought he had taken care of might mysteriously and sudden waken and attack like a bad guy in a movie who gives one last frightening scare before dying.

Rendered dumb and confused by the stillness, his mind slowly seemed to gather itself and he pieced together what had happened previously.

Through clear patches of the frosted windshield, he could see the utility that had been parked in the front yard. Steel rods, rivets, tools and shafts of shiny steel that were packed into the back had stabbed through the windscreen when he had crashed into it. They had impaled the zombie on the dashboard and pinned it down, invariably saving his life. It was a wonder given the large pile of steel, now in disarray in a tangled mess, hadn't pierced the windshield and stabbed into Craig. Thin wires of metal had lodged into the passenger seat as well as into the dead zombie.

Shaking his head in disbelief, he turned his mind back to the task at hand. Four zombies dealt with with only one more to take care of.

Julia.

One bullet left.

He had to get out of the crumpled car and find her.

Craig squirmed around in his seat, trying to find a way out and climb into the back of the car, but there was little room to move around with the dead zombie still lodged through the windshield and blocking much of the way.

He looked around for an alternative and found the recliner latch down by his side. With a determine tug, the seat folded all the way down and he triumphantly crawled through the empty space into the back seats. The back door opened easily, but his footing as he stepped out into the night was anything but steady. The aftermath of the adrenal surge had left his legs feeling weak and he felt he might vomit as he stumbled, trying to secure his balance as he waited for his blood flow to calm and his body to adjust. Leaning against the car in a daze, he could make out the corpse of the zombie he had shot just before. Clumps of blood and brain matter lay splattered amongst the dirt, illuminated eerily in the faint glow of a still working headlight and the faint lighting from inside the car. The body of the middle aged man seemed very at peace in the dirt. Only now could Craig see that he was nearly naked. Perversely, Craig coughed out a small chuckle at the thought that he looked like he was sunbaking.

That was the strange thing, he decided. All of the zombies he had seen lying on the ground dead seemed not to be dead, but rather appeared as though they were sleeping or somehow still alive in some way. It was such a contrast to their manic demeanour that instantly stops when a bullet cleanly ends their undead life.

He wondered morosely whether he would ever become one of those monsters one day. Even if he did, would he spend forever wandering around trapped in the bloodlust or would someone mercifully end his pain with a bullet to the head like the example that lay at his feet? Would they bury him in a dignified death and a prayer to God?

What would it matter? He wondered. God didn't exist anyway, or does he? Did hell create this mess or was this solely man's doing? Does the existence of hell therefore prove that God exists?

Finally, he felt the tingle of his blood returning to his feet and he stood up, stretching his shoulders as he settled his eyes on the soft glow still emanating from the bedroom of the farmhouse just in front of him.

Such questions are for another time, he reasoned and adjusted the grip on the pistol in his right hand, reassured by its weight. It also managed to catch the light from the car and made him wonder of the irony of its cleanliness.

So far he had shoved it into the mouth of more than one of those ghouls and pulled the trigger, yet it was more or less spotless. His clothes and his hair were the exact opposite, slick with coagulated blood and assorted pieces of drying flesh.

Thinking of the detritus that clung to him, he suddenly wished he had a cold or a case of the flu to block his nose and spare him the smell, but he shrugged it off. He would simply have to get used to it. At this rate, he surely would, he surmised with a sighed and stepped forward towards the house.

With the gun trained up in front of him, he calmly, yet carefully, stepped up onto the porch and reached for the door handle. The rapping of light feet on a wooden floor caused him to train the gun around, but a shadowy figure dived for him. With a gasp, the breath was knocked out of his lungs and the gun was lost as he crashed down onto the boards and immediately grappled with the snarling attacker.

Snapping his arms around and over, he surprisingly managed to easily swat the demon away, sending it tumbling off the porch and into the dirt. Rolling to his feet, he managed to see the attacker in the faint light of the Commodore's functioning headlamp and saw it was merely a young girl, possibly only eight years old. Whatever apprehensions he had or humanitarian notions of mercy were quickly quashed when he saw the evil anger that consumed her face and heard her wailing cry as she sprang forward with inhuman speed.

Wary of his bare knuckles, Craig tensed his legs and planted his feet as she charged and smacked her hard across the face with his elbow, covered by the jumper he wore. Stunned by the hard blow, the girl slumped to the floor in a daze, but she quickly sprang back to her feet to resume her determined attack. Craig seized the opportunity however and managed to grab a fistful of the child's messy black hair and yanked her head back, arcing her body awkwardly. The girl tried to grab for his arm, but her feeble attempts to pull herself free were no match for Craig's strong grip.

Aware of his vulnerability on the front porch, Craig decided he needed to end this quickly. Hoisting the flailing child off its feet, he stepped down by the edge of the porch and secured his grip on her. Her determination was admirable he thought, her unwillingness to give in reminded him of a faithful and fiercely protective dog he used to have as a child. Because of this he paused for a moment before he turned back to the task at hand and steeled himself.

With a strong shove, he smashed the girl's face hard into the corner of the wooden porch. With a sickening crunch, her skull broke inwards and her face collapsed, but she struggled on as though nothing had happened, gurgling and screaming in defiance.

Craig widened his stance and pushed the girl's face into the ledge again with more vigour, but still the child doggedly absorbed the punishment and continued to struggle in his grip. Anger welled at her unwillingness to die and with a final throw her face broke in half on the wood. A wet sound escaped her lips, as though a dejected sob to mourn her undead life ending and she fell from his hands into the dirt like a pile of wet rags.

Unlike the peaceful body by the car that he admired before, the child's face, although broken and bloodied, was locked in a defiant silent scream of anger. Craig supposed as a father he should feel some measure of remorse for the unfortunate girl, but shrugged when he found none, only an eagerness to proceed inside and satisfy his curiosity over what Julia's current state may be.

He had no doubt she was a zombie now and her body would likely be a disgusting sight to behold, but he could not deny his morbid fascination. She would be the first zombie of someone he knew, albeit briefly. He wanted to see the contrast of her features and whether any of her previous life might still drift in her eyes somewhere.

Stepping over the small corpse, he found his pistol lying on the ground and reached for the front doorknob again. Gun ready and live, he opened the door to the familiar sight of the main hallway, although its previously spotless peach walls were defiled by random trails of blood.

Proceeding inside with a hint of trepidation, he eyed the still closed bedroom door. Quickly, he opened it and peered inside, looking down the pistol's sights through the room's soft glow to find Julia lying exactly where he left her under the window sill amongst the broken glass.

Craig's eyes went wide in surprise and disgust in spite of his expectations as he saw her lying on her back, arms splayed out above her head, her face turned away from him. Her abdomen was torn open and her intestines were splayed out across her body and onto the floor. Her breasts were missing, with only straggling strands of flesh hanging off them and hints of her ribcage visible as pearly white snakes of bone in the mess of ragged red flesh. Her neck was torn open and her vocal chords were exposed to the air.

There was blood everywhere.

Absolutely everywhere.

The room stank of death, decay and blood.

"Jesus Christ."

Julia's head turned at the sound and bore holes into Craig as she looked him straight in the eyes. Her face was untouched, but her eyes were inhuman, deathly cold and grey.

She just stared at him, expressionless.

Craig stepped forward closer to her, but warily kept his distance.

Her hands twitched open and closed as he approached.

Looking down on her violated body, he trembled as a rush of anger and unbridled fury gripped him, burning up through his body like vomit shooting up his oesophagus.

"You dumb bitch." He looked at her through the sights of his pistol, lining up the marker between her eyes. "You're not even worth a bullet. You fucked everything up! You should have been thankful I saved you! You should have given your pussy to me wrapped up like a fucking Christmas present!" He was shouting, anger rising.

The pistol dropped absently from his hands as his fists clenched up tightly, his knuckles shone white and his fingernails threatened to cut into his palms and draw blood. "Motherfucking bitch!!" he shouted over and over as he stomped towards her, shoving his feet into the wooden floor.

Memories of the wife he despised and the thugs in jail who had violated him filled his mind with hatred. The bedroom and everything in it drowned in a shade of red as he lost control.

Julia snapped her arms across and grabbed Craig's right ankle. Furious, Craig raised his left leg, letting his foot dangle over Julia's face as she stared up at it with strange fascination.

"You didn't get a chance to suck my dick, but you can suck on this instead!" he yelled as he stomped his foot down hard onto her face, breaking her nose. He lifted his leg again as she choked and growled through the blood that rushed into her airway.

"Suck on this! Take it!!"

He shoved his foot down again, ruthlessly.

"Suck it!!"

He stomped down on her over and over. He was shouting so much he couldn't hear the cracking of her teeth and skull as it shattered and caved in further with every crushing blow. Her arms were wrestling with his pumping leg, grappling furiously. He quickly became unaware of the number of times he brought is foot down heavily on her face, only conscious of the fact that her skull was largely intact and she continued to struggle against the onslaught.

She needed to die. Not to be put out of her misery, he decided, but because he hated her. He didn't rightly know why. It didn't matter. She needed to die and he was here to do it. If anything, he doing her a service, he reasoned.

Eager to end the barrage, he jumped into the air and brought down the full weight of his body onto her face with both of his feet. With a determined shove with his legs as he came down, her face comprehensively imploded, flattening against the floor and splattering outwards across the boards with a wet crunch.

Julia immediately stopped struggling and her arms fell limply onto the floor by her sides in defeat.

Panting and sweating in the stifling heat of his angry body, he looked down on his shoes and pants, covered in blood and fleshy matter from the shins down. He scowled angrily at the mess, annoyed he would have to clean him self up again and change clothes once more.

Stepping back from her destroyed face, he surveyed what he had done with a perverse sense of achievement. Her face was a crumpled mess of blood, bone and brain. A red nothing, already absorbing into the porous wooden floor.

Callously, he snorted, gathering all of the phlegm and saliva he could find and spat a thick wad into the remnants of her broken face.

"Something to remember me by, beautiful." He chuckled darkly as his anger started to subside, regarding her with cool detachment. The stark change in his mindset made him feel as though someone else had done it. After all, he tried but couldn't properly remember the first blow he landed on her or what he said to her.

Assured of the finality of the scene, he turned and walked casually out of the room, leaving splotchy red footprints of blood and flesh with each step. He made sure to grab the pistol lying on the floor as he left.

As quickly as his anger receded, it was replaced by an odd sadness that engulfed him and threw him down on the floor. He tried to hold back the sobs that wracked his body, but it was the sight of the pistol in his hand that cleared the encroaching tears.

One bullet left.

I need to choose. Right here and now, he decided.

This world will never be the same again. Will it be worth living in when this undead shit storm is over? Will it ever be over? He wondered, eyeing the cars outside in the night and looking back down at the pistol cradled in his dirty hands.

What would it be then?

Keep going and survive no matter what? Or use that last bullet on myself and give up? Ensure I never turn into one of them? The questions weighed heavily on his mind as he tried to find an answer.

Whatever reasons or justifications that raced through his head seemed dwarfed by the real and heavy weight of the weapon in his hands. The symbol of everything the world he thought would become seemed to grow heavier with every passing second and shone once more in the sharp light of the ceiling light bulb.

He gripped the pistol again, lifting it under his chin and pointing it upwards. The steel felt warm against the softness of his upper throat, warmed from the previous discharge into the mouth of the zombie that seemed so at peace on the ground outside by the car. He couldn't deny it, the idea of joining it in peaceful sleep seemed inviting.

He held the gun there, not moving for what seemed like such a long time.

An eternity.

He closed his eyes.

"Fuck it."


	7. New found power

Author's note: Dead Opportunities is going through a complete re-write at the moment

**Author's note: Dead Opportunities is going through a complete re-write at the moment. New chapters have slowed dramatically whilst I do this. I am taking this task quite seriously to inflate the first Book from 65K words to closer to 100k and preparing it as a proper manuscript for consideration by an agent or even to publish it on my own website. I think the new chapters are much more polished and deeper than they were before, delving into Craig's mind much more to help you understand him and the action is more graphic and gripping.**

**I still intend for Dead Opportunities to be a Trilogy. I have many ideas in the back of my mind and I need to restructure Book I to better fit into the continuity. The ending of Book I is likely to change and more characters will feature.**

**I would very much appreciate any reviews with regards to these new chapters and I will likely re-write them and polish them again at a later stage. Many thanks to all who have given their patronage to my work and left reviews and comments. They are very important to me and I give them my utmost attention.**

**Kind regards,**

**Hoobajoo**

**CHAPTER 7 (re-written)**

"Fuck it."

Craig let the pistol drop back down to his side and pulled the trigger. The shot thundered down into the floor, sending flecks of wood flying across the boards.

That bullet was not meant for me, he decided. There's no fun in giving up.

There's a whole world of dead people that need to be killed, he thought. How often do you get to kill people on such a scale and it's a good thing? Smiling at the prospect, he remembered a scene from a zombie movie he had seen a long time ago as a teenager where a band of survivors went nuts and had a ball in the aftermath of the zombie plague. Who says he couldn't do the same?

Craig resolved he would try again and find another place to stay. This house was no good anymore. The back door has been smashed in, and the front bedroom window was also broken and vulnerable. Further, the house was rather small and overly tidy for his liking. It might be cosy, he reasoned, but it's bloody boring.

Time to scavenge whatever he could and leave, he decided. Moving quickly and silently through the house, he turned off every light he could find, bathing it in a heavy darkness, except for the light spilling out of the fridge in the kitchen. It was the most important place in the house, he reasoned given all of the food he came back for was here. Working quickly, he regathered everything back into the plastic shopping bags and set them down on the coffee table.

Looking back on the kitchen, he noticed the sludgy red foot prints on the floor. Groaning with annoyance, he crept into the bedroom and rummaged through the wardrobe. The clothes he had been wearing were from here and they fit him well enough. Finding a large sportsbag, he emptied all of the clothes he could find in the dim light that would be suitable. Tighty whitey underpants, socks, polo shirts, trousers, everything save for the new clothes he would wear.

Sliding out of his recently soiled clothes, recoiling at the cold and wet sensation of the already clotting blood that clung to the fabric and pooled in the shoes, he quickly donned a pair of new jeans. They felt clean and crisp as though they were new.

Hidden in the shadows at the end of the clothes rack, he found a nice leather jacket. Slipping it on, he found it also fitted quite well, better than the other clothes he had commandeered. Likely the jacket had been relegated to the back of the cupboard because it was a touch too large for the original owner. All the better for me, Craig thought as he hunched his shoulders and found the pleating across his back very accommodating and unrestrictive.

Zipping the large red sports bag shut, he headed back to the kitchen in the blood soaked shoes from before, unable to find another pair in the wardrobe that fit. They were all too small.

The glass of the shattered back door crunched underfoot as he stopped to gaze out through the empty doorway. He hadn't thought to properly check the backyard before and he stepped out into the night air, eyeing the distance. A persistent haze of light crept over the horizon, providing a faint glow by which to still be able to make out the landscape and features around him, but that would disappear completely very soon.

A dark shape on the right in the empty space caught his eye and upon closer inspection found it was a small shed made from corrugated steel. Inside, it was relatively clean and organised under the buzzing light of the grimy bulb in the low ceiling. Small desiccated spider shells and cobwebs tangled behind a shelf where he found assorted bolts, nails and small tools arranged neatly amongst the fine dust. Larger tools lined the walls, hanging tidily from small hooks where he found a large axe much like the one he lost back at Frankston. Leaning against the wall just below, he found several solid steel poles about a metre long each that shone faintly in the light. He grabbed one of them, feeling the solid weight in his hands.

Just behind him he noticed a pair of Blundstone work boots. Hopeful, he put them on and happily found they were much like the leather jacket. They were a near perfect fit and were likely a little too large for the original owner. Craig smiled, happy to get his feet into something dry. The squelch of the congealed blood that soaked his shoes was uncomfortable and annoying. These were much better, similar to the orchard boots he left behind back home.

Rifling through the rest of the house and the shed once more, he stockpiled a variety of further supplies and equipment, including a half filled gas bottle, a flashlight, batteries, a portable radio, a small can of petrol and toiletries from the bathroom. He made sure to pack the sleeping tablets from before.

Just as he got ready to walk out the door, he couldn't help but laugh when he thought of a vital piece of equipment he didn't have and found it in a kitchen drawer. All this time lugging around cans of food he didn't even have a can opener. Thankfully, he now did and it also had a bottle opener cut into the handle. What good is a can of spam when you can't get into it? He sighed, doubting he could get much benefit from using it as a door stop or a paperweight.

Conducting a final sweep of the house, he walked into the bedroom and caught himself staring down at Julia's body. He was glad he could barely see her body in the darkness. This closest thing to a companion he had out here and she was dead. Not just dead. She was a disgusting mess.

Absently, he noticed one of her hands was lying on the floor and disappeared a short way under the bed. It hadn't dawned on him to check under there before and he frowned in annoyance, berating himself.

Reaching down, he could feel the distinct outline of a wooden casing of some sort. Pulling it out, he found it had a handle and he eagerly took it to the kitchen to examine it. He supposed he should be thankful to Julia for giving him the hint to look under the bed. Were it not for her, he wouldn't have found this.

Excitedly, he set it down on the lounge coffee table and could see it was a long wooden case with luggage style latches on either side of the handle.

Flipping the latches open, he was almost expecting to see an electric guitar or a set of medals or coins, but gasped in surprise to see a rifle. Craig had never really used a rifle before, and had just about never been familiar with guns until he bought his pistol a couple of weeks ago. Although he had no idea what model it was, he recognised it was a bolt action rifle and had a housing for a sniper scope, but he couldn't see one inside the case.

He supposed the gun must have been a present and had probably not been used yet given it was so shiny.

A very clean and undisturbed cardboard box was also inside containing ammunition. The bullets were large with a menacingly sharp tip. Their casing were cool to the touch and much heavier than he imagined they might. Altogether, he counted 45 rounds packed neatly in the box.

Turning back to the gun, Craig carefully wrapped his hands around it, lifting it up out of the box's foam mould. Like the bullets, it was heavier than he expected and felt powerful in his hands. He handled the trigger and slung it under his shoulder aiming it towards a small clay gnome that sat smiling on a shelf.

Craig couldn't stifle the smile that creased his lips. He didn't doubt that this gun could blow the little novelty creature into a million pieces, leaving it strewn everywhere.

"Goddamn." He whispered breathlessly.

He pulled the trigger, listening to the hollow click, still aimed at the little gnome as it smiled back through the sights.

A faint howl in the distance brought him out of his reverie and he quickly packed the gun and ammunition back inside the case. Working quickly and suddenly nervous as the mystery dog's howl grew slightly louder in the clear air, he shoved everything into the Audi outside, laying the rifle case on the passenger seat beside him.

Unfortunately, much like Alice's wrecked Commodore, the seat in the Audi was set much too far forward for comfort. Grumbling, he started the car, which whispered to life and settled into a smooth idle.

Feeling for the seat adjustments, he was surprised to find several little toggles.

"Bloody hell! Electric seats!" he exclaimed in excitement. He had been to the Melbourne Motor Show before and sat in cars that had electric seats like this one, but it was a rush to think he now _owned_ one. Surely now with Julia lying dead in the bedroom he could lay claim to this machine, he reasoned.

_Mine_, he smiled like a cat with a new mouse to play with.

Oblivious to the continued howling of the dog, muted completely by the insulation of the car he fiddled with the seat toggles, smiling as the plush chair vibrated and shifted around, seemingly in all directions. Finally he settled on a position that was just right as he eased the car slowly down the driveway towards the road.

He felt like the king of the world. Only just this morning he was a suicidal loser living in a scungy hotel with a car that wouldn't start. His clothes were worn and cheap and he wiled away the day with alcohol. Strangely he noticed he hadn't had a drop all day and felt no inclination to have one now. He was too busy revelling in his current state, having dumped his car and upgraded to John Commodore and now upgraded again to a genuine example of German luxury engineering. He no longer wore second-hand flannelettes and tattered jeans. Now he wore a clean shirt, crisp and full coloured jeans and an obsidian leather jacket. He was a man of stature now, he joked. Besides the work boots and the cheap digital watch he wore, there would be no way to know of his true origins.

Before he could admire his good fortunes further, a light suddenly flashed passed him just ahead on the main road. The distinct glow of another car's red tails lights caused his heart to race.

A survivor.

He had been so busy being proud of himself that he hadn't even addressed the question properly as to where he would go next. Conveniently, it seemed his next course of action had just presented itself as he set off down the road to catch up with the driver.

Blasting down the remainder of the driveway, he would have been thankful the Audi had all-wheel drive if he knew as he swerved out of the gravel driveway and onto the asphalt with the accelerator firmly pressed towards the floor. The car ahead had established a fair distance since it flashed by him, but the Audi quickly ate the gap up bringing him comfortably behind the mysterious car and within range of his headlight's reach.

It was a blue four wheel drive of some sort and seemed to be oblivious of his presence as it smoothly followed the gentle curves of the road. Craig tried to get the driver's attention by flashing his high beams on and honking his horn, but there was still no acknowledgement.

After a full minute of trying to signal the driver, he was about to pull up beside the four wheel drive when it slowed markedly and suddenly pulled into a driveway. Craig simply followed down the gravelled strip, much like the one back at the farm house he had fled from as the car pulled to a stop.

Pulling in a few metres behind, Craig was eager to meet this new person but remained inside watching for the driver to present himself. He grew nervous when after a few moments the car continued to sit idly in front of him. He couldn't even see inside the four wheel drive's cabin for signs of life. It was as though there was no one inside at all.

Suddenly the car's driver side door flung open and a man sprinted out into the open. Craig moved to open his door, but flinched when a shot rang out and his side mirror shattered. Instantly, Craig leaned down and across the centre console and lay his head on the gun case on the passenger seat for cover as another shot cut the air with a muffled pop and a window somewhere behind him shattered.

"You goddamn bastard. You ain't getting me!" The gunman screamed with a crazed voice. "This is my house!"

His heart surged with a heady mix of exhilaration and fear as he fumbled to undo the seat belt that pinned him into the driver's seat.

"You ain't gonna bite me boy!" the man screamed again, his voice suddenly louder as footsteps punched into the dirt towards him.

Craig chanced a peek over the dashboard and could see the man in the gloom running towards him. He had to get out of the car or he had no chance, he decided and sat up to open the door. By the time he had pushed himself up and looked out the window, he saw the angry snarling face of an elderly man staring back at him with unbridled fury. He moved to open Craig's door, but Craig beat him to it, shoving it open into him with a dull thud and knocking him back. The man coughed and continued to scream obscenities as Craig stumbled out through the narrow opening and dove onto the sprawling man in the dirt.

"You fucking demon! I will smite you!" the man screamed, even as Craig pinned his arms to the ground. He struggled defiantly, but Craig held him fast.

"What the fuck's wrong with you?" Craig yelled at him.

"Go on then. Bite me! Get it over with." He taunted exposing his wrinkled throat as though Craig might he a hungry vampire.

"I'm not gonna bite you."

"Liar!"

"What's the fuck's your problem?!" Craig was quickly losing patience with the crazed old man and grabbed his face, forcing him to make eye contact. He could see then the old man's face was dirty, smeared with something.

Blood.

The old man seized upon Craig's hesitation and wriggled one of his legs between Craig's, not hesitating to bring his knee up into his groin. Craig's grip on him immediately failed as his balls felt they had imploded. It was a familiar pain. Every man knew it, but that provided no help as he fell off the thrashing old man and withdrew into a foetal boll in the dirt. The aching pain dulled the world around him and he wasn't particularly conscious of his confused enemy rolling to his feet and standing over him triumphantly.

"Now I will smite you down, undead heathen." He said calmly as he raised a makeshift club over his head.

Craig's life seemed to flash before his eyes and transcended the pain in his groin. Without thinking about what he was doing, he squirmed to the side as the club came down and thudded into the empty ground just behind him. Struggling to his feet, seemingly devoid of any meaningful sense of balance, Craig managed to stumble away towards the back of the Audi. The old man quickly recovered from his thunderous miss and raised the club again in pursuit.

Stumbling around the car, feeling along its steel body for direction, he desperately tried to keep it between him and the crazy attacker while the pain in his groin slowly subsided.

"You cannot escape God's wrath!" the old man shrieked angrily. Despite his fury, the old man seemed to quickly tire and tripped numerous times against the car, much like Craig. "I'll (huff) get you."

On and on they continued to circumnavigate the Audi, but it seemed just as quickly as Craig recovered from his blow below the belt, the old man seemed to tire as he continued to scream incoherently. Craig was thankful that he was either too out of it or too stupid not to double back around the car, but continued to run anti-clockwise rings. Even little kids know how to play this game, he sighed.

Finally, the man stumbled and fell out of sight and Craig seized the opportunity, running around the car to find him collapsed by the back wheel in the gravel. Heaving gulps of air like a fish out of water, he seemed as weak as one as he looked up on his mistaken enemy.

"Fine then. Finish me." He whimpered through raspy breaths and lay still in complete submission.

"I'm not here to kill you. I'm not a zombie you dumb crumbly." If he couldn't get through to this guy, he'd have to kill him, he decided. He was out of patience even in light of his surrender. "Let me take you inside. This is your house, right?"

The old man's eyes seemed to open in cold surprise as the realisation appeared to sink in, "You're not a zombie?"

"What the fuck do you think?"

"Oh god. I'm sorry." He sobbed.

Craig sighed with exasperation. They didn't have time for this. They were vulnerable out in the open like this with all the noise they had been making. This was no time for theatrics and drama.

"C'mon." Craig reached down and pulled the man roughly to his feet. Even with Craig slinging his shoulder under his, the old man barely took any of his own weight in his legs as he sobbed through heaving breaths about how sorry he was.

"Inside. My house. Safe." He coughed as Craig guided his light frame towards the porch and through the already open front door.

Fumbling in the darkness, Craig managed to find a light switch in the hallway and stumble onwards towards the couch he could see through the way.

Craig wondered if much like the farmhouse with Julia that this house had an inverse relationship between the quality of the interior and exterior. Given the décor and state of disarray of this place, the house's façade must be made of diamonds he joked privately as the old man spilled into an old cloth couch.

It was littered with papers and clothes were strewn everywhere. Craig supposed that he should feel right at home given his hotel in Frankston was in a similar state of disarray and filth.

It wasn't until he had finished surveying the room that his eyes settled back on the old man at the blood smeared across his face became apparent. He was deathly pale and a dark stain had collected beneath the man's collar.

"Are you alright?" he asked, suddenly understanding why the old man had attacked him so blindly.

"Got bit trying to get food. Wife dead. Don't feel so good." With every cough and splutter, his voice seemed to grow weaker and his breathing shallowed. Thick droplets of sweat were gathering on his face, irritating his bloodshot eyes.

"You're dying." He blurted out before he knew what he was saying.

"Thought so." He simply replied. "It's alright, I s'pose. I just hope I go to heaven. I done some bad things a long time ago."

"I'm sure you'll be alright." Craig stammered uncomfortably. It was slowly dawning on him that if he died, he might very turn into a zombie and he would have to take care of him.

"The good Lord knows. He knows what I done."

"What's your name?" Craig asked, trying to get the old man to focus.

"He knows…." The old man mumbled and seemed to be overcome by a heavy tiredness, lying on the couch like a limp sheet against the cushion. "He knows."

He was slipping away. Craig could see the man's skin paling to a deathly shade of white and his raspy breathing was growing softer and shorter with every breath. Although he tried to keep his eyes open, they slowly but surely dropped closed as he fell into unconsciousness.

Although Craig had seen movies and knew zombie bites turned people, he had no idea how long it would take and how sudden the transformation would be. Panic rising, he quickly scanned the lounge room, but found nothing useful to use as a weapon. Only frail looking wicker chairs piles of newspaper.

Giving up, he abandoned the man and bolted for his Audi outside, finding the steel pole he had packed before lying in the foot well of the back seats. Clutching it tightly, he ran back into the house to find him still lying on the couch, although his chest was no longer rising and fall with breath.

He was dead.

Craig's heart raced as he gripped his hand tightly around the pole, readying it over his shoulder for the inevitable swing. Legs and arms tensed, he stood and waited for the old man's eyes to open again, signalling his undead rebirth.

Conscious of the research value of the situation, Craig tried to count the seconds as he continued to wait.

10

11

12

13

14

The seconds slipped by, seemingly ticking over with unnatural speed as he tensely waited. But it was growing too much as sweat stung into his eyes. Rubbing his brow with his sleeve, he gasp when he looked back down again to find the old man's grey eyes staring back up at him vacantly. He wasn't moving, locked in the slack curvature of the couch as though his body was paralysed. Those eyes were mesmerising. Craig looked deep into them and held his breath in anticipation. He couldn't be certain whether the old man had in fact turned and waited as though playing some perverse game or whether he had died with his eyes open and was in fact harmlessly dead.

"Hey." Craig whispered and the air around him seemed to freeze as though it was ice as the old man blinked.

Shrieking with fear, Craig snapped the pipe down and smashed the old man in the nose with a hard swing. The old man jerked with the blow, his cheekbone and nose severely cracked, but his skull held. With unnatural speed and strength, he clutched the pipe still in Craig's hands and Craig recoiled with a terrified scream, pulling the pipe back over his shoulder for another swing, but it only lifted the zombified man off the couch ready to attack.

Craig tried to swing again, but the zombie charged before he could bring it round and it fell uselessly from his hands as he tumbled backwards onto the floor. As he fell backwards, managing to round his back so the impact on the floor was smoothed and he retained the air in his lungs, the crazed visage of his attacker filled his vision. Awareness of the room around him and the pipe that dropped to the floor abruptly ceased as he fought to keep the monster's poisoned teeth at bay. He could however feel the man's fingers press painfully into his arms and he was thankful he was wearing the thick leather jacket, covering his arms and protecting him from the creature's nails. He knew bites turned people like this man, but he had no idea what other threats it had in its toxic arsenal.

With a secure grip around its throat, he managed to keep it at bay and slide his leg out for leverage to topple them over and gain the upper hand. With a determined push with his left leg, he sent them both rolling over to the right and he successfully managed to get the monster under him.

Ignoring the chokes and growls that escaped from the pale lips of his foe, he looked around for the pipe and found it right next to him. Quickly and with one hand still around its neck and pinning it to the floor, he grabbed the pipe, but he had little leverage to bring it down and kill it. Its arms kept getting in the way of a clear swing.

With a determined grunt, he lifted up and slipped a foot up the zombie's chest and lodged it on its neck, securing it to the floor and he rose unsteadily to prepare to swing. It had been a very long time since he had last played golf and he prayed his rudimentary technique would be successful as he rotated his shoulders and brought the pipe down in a circular arc.

The old man seemed to understand Craig's intentions and eyed the metal pole as it swung in a grey blur through the air towards it. With a sharp crack against the side of the old man's skull, its neck snapped over from the force of the blow and it's grappling hands immediately dropped to the floor in limp defeat. The previously angry and twisted snarl that contorted the old man's face fell into a peaceful emptiness much like he was when he died on the couch.

A perverse and sudden anger coursed through Craig's veins and he brought the pole down again on the old man's broken face, shattering bone and sending shards piercing flesh inside as blood started to pool on the floor through his ears.

"One to make you grow, old fart." He growled angrily. "If you've done things like me, you ain't going to heaven. I'll see you in hell when I get there."

Cursing in disgust and frustration, Craig walked back outside and quietly brought a plastic bag of food inside along with the rifle. Just as the old man had alluded to before, the house was quite secure when he inspected the windows and doors. The windows each has sturdy looking wooden shutters and the doors were made of old and solid oak with large locks. Given the mass of newspaper and scraps of paper that lay strewn about on the lounge room floor, some soaking in his blood, Craig supposed he must have been a paranoid old man in his day.

Suddenly he felt very tired and thirsty, exhausted from the tension and adrenaline of the day. He found the bedroom, a Spartan place with minimal furniture and a functional bedspread devoid of colour or pretentious decorative pillows he guessed the old man's wife might have liked to have softened the atmosphere with. The dusty board creaked under the weight of his body climbing into bed beneath the cotton sheets as he immediately fell asleep.

Dreams of death, blood and screams smothered his mind as he slept, but he did not wake and could not recall any of it when he woke in the morning.


	8. Roast chicken

Author's note: Dead Opportunities is going through a complete re-write at the moment

**Author's note: Dead Opportunities is going through a complete re-write at the moment. New chapters have slowed dramatically whilst I do this. I am taking this task quite seriously to inflate the first Book from 65K words to closer to 100k and preparing it as a proper manuscript for consideration by an agent or even to publish it on my own website. I think the new chapters are much more polished and deeper than they were before, delving into Craig's mind much more to help you understand him and the action is more graphic and gripping.**

**I still intend for Dead Opportunities to be a Trilogy. I have many ideas in the back of my mind and I need to restructure Book I to better fit into the continuity. The ending of Book I is likely to change and more characters will feature.**

**I would very much appreciate any reviews with regards to these new chapters and I will likely re-write them and polish them again at a later stage. Many thanks to all who have given their patronage to my work and left reviews and comments. They are very important to me and I give them my utmost attention.**

**Kind regards,**

**Hoobajoo**

**Chapter 8 (re-written)**

Slowly Craig woke and propped his body up on his elbows as a shard of golden light from the sunrise outside stabbed across the room and settled on the faded wood of an old wardrobe. Blinking the sleep from his eyes, he was suddenly reminded of the reality of current circumstances and last night's confrontation as the sickly smell of blood and flesh crept up his nose. He should have shoved that old man's body outside, he thought and then immediately reconsidered it given the possibility the smell might have attracted unwanted attention from hungry undead miscreants.

Flecks of dust danced in the golden shard of light before him, mesmerising him as he listened to a bird chirping outside. The scene reminded him of a peaceful dirty weekend he once organised with his ex-wife Kathy in the Dandenong mountains. He had woken first from an all night sex marathon and he had laid there admiring the way the silk sheets draped over her body and easily slipped away with the barest of tugs to reveal her full breasts.

Lost for a moment in the memory, he finally managed to bring himself back to the present day and crept out of the warm blankets. Walking through the eerie hallways of the small house, he finally found the bathroom and unfortunately also found the dead old man's body waiting for him on the floor back in the kitchen.

He was staring up towards the ceiling in a blank defeated sort of way, as though humbly worshipping the man who killed him. Craig had gathered from his ramblings last night that he must have been a strictly religious man and likely would have thanked him for ending his undead suffering.

"You're welcome." He mumbled dejectedly with a lazy mock military salute and turned to the fridge to prepare breakfast. Yesterday had been a very off kilter day, having spent half of it unconscious and hungry until the evening when he woke up. He was looking forward to a more orthodox regime today as he opened the fridge and was glad to see the power was still on.

However, much of the contents were either expired or near empty. Likely Craig had bumped into the nameless old man on his way back from a supply run of some sort. With an angry snort, Craig relegated himself to a breakfast of canned corn mixed with spam from his own inventory, choking it down as he eyed the stony corpse still staring aimlessly up at the ceiling.

A quick tour of the house yielded no particularly useful additions to his current supplies. The man's clothes were much too small, there was little food left and there were no makeshift weapons to speak of. Outside, however Craig was instantly drawn to the old man's shotgun that still lay in the dirt near the Audi where he had collapsed. Eyeing the mangled and pockmarked side mirror and the shattered back window of the car, he grabbed the firearm for a closer inspection.

It was an old school double barrelled shotgun. However, its general condition was appalling even in Craig's novice eyes. The trigger was bent and the insides of the barrels were crusted with rust or grime of sort. Craig couldn't tell what it was exactly, but it wouldn't scrape off under his determined fingernails. Ejecting the spent shells, it was a wonder to think it had even fired at all last night.

Looking down the sights, it was then glaringly apparent that the barrel was skewed to the left in a very slight curve. Craig supposed the wayward aim might well have saved his life when the old man had first fired on him, destroying the Audi's side mirror. Had it fired straighter, maybe it could have instead gone through the corner of the windshield and some of the buckshot might have managed to reach him.

Sceptical of the weapon's usefulness, he tossed it through the broken back window into the back seat of the Audi anyway and set about searching the four wheel drive. Much like the house, it was devoid of anything useful. It was littered with scraps of paper, wrappers and other items of miscellaneous rubbish and there were no shells for the shotgun anywhere. It stank of body odour, but more heady. The key was still in the ignition and Craig cursed in frustration to see the car's fuel tank needle inch just over empty.

Besides having presented him with a safe place to stay, everything about this man had been unhelpful. He had tried to kill him, his house had nothing of value, his four wheel drive had nothing of value and nearly dry. Craig wondered if he should ever try using his shotgun for fear some sort of blow back or other mechanical malfunction might send a double dose of metal vomiting back into his face and blowing his head off.

"Fucking useless." He grumbled and climbed into his Audi to set off for the day and find more supplies, particularly petrol and more food. A quick inventory of what he had left in the boot amounted to enough to last him another two weeks, he estimated roughly. He doubted whatever zombies were around would rot away and become inert and harmless within that timeframe, necessitating a supply run. He would be a vulture now. Steal, loot and scavenge. Whatever it took, he resolved.

The previously serene and removed quietness of the Audi's cabin was only mildly disturbed by the intruding wind through the broken back window. If anything it was welcome as the air tickled the back of his neck like a massage of soft fingertips. With a press of a polished switch, he opened his own driver's window and relished the cool morning breeze blowing through his tired scalp.

It was such a juxtaposition compared to the stuffiness and claustrophobia of the house.

Here, the sun shone freely in a pink glow over the canopy of fluffy clouds as the morning steadily grew warmer, yet it was still crisp. Several more inanimate and innocent looking houses amongst the dry paddocks and lines of wind breaking pine trees wafted by as he casually ambled the car down the road. It was almost like he was sitting still and the whole world seemed to roll by him as though it was on a conveyer belt.

Lost in the peaceful rhythm of the drive, a curious anomaly caught his attention. One of the houses that approached in the near distance seemed odd, but he couldn't place it at first. It was a normal looking two storey home of red brick and white rendered plaster. Although it was a larger and taller than the other more humble farmhouses he passed, he continued to squint curiously until he realised why the house seemed odd.

All of the windows on the first floor were covered, boarded up with wooden planks and boards.

Survivors, he breathed and yanked the steering wheel over, managing to swerve the Audi around and slot it into the makeshift fortress' driveway.

Eyeing the house's dimensions and exterior as he pulled into the front yard, he was struck at how clean the garden and gravelled pathways were. Snaking through clumps of green grass, the paved pathway led from the side of the house to the front door and continued on towards a large double garage.

His eyes watched for movement both warily and excitedly as the pebble mix of the driveway crunched under the tyres and before long a figure appeared at a window on the second floor.

It was a little girl, maybe only 8 years old with thin blond hair that clung to her arm as she waved furiously with an overly toothy smile. She looked like she was about to hyperventilate with excitement as she pulled away from the window and called to someone.

Instantly another figure appeared in another window on the second floor, a balding middle aged man and he waved just as enthusiastically as the little girl.

Craig parked the car in the front yard, turning the ignition off and stepped out onto the grass. He waved back with as much smile and humility as he could muster. He didn't need to act altogether that much when he found he was genuinely relieved to have found them. "Hey there!"

"Hello. Hang on a sec, we'll open the front door, OK?" The man responded and turned away to talk to someone. "It's good to see another person! You wouldn't believe what's been going on here." He continued, squinting in the quickly brightening morning sunshine. "You from around here?"

"No, I managed to get out of the city, drove my car all the way out here." Craig shouted back. "I brought lots of food and water with me."

If the man was excited enough to have a heart attack before, he appeared he might have one now as his eyes seemed to light up even brighter. "Oh really? Hey, that's great!"

The click clack of a heavy lock being opened brought his attention down to find a middle aged woman in neat jeans and a T-shirt opening the door for him with a courteous and welcoming smile. The peroxide white shine of her teeth contrasted sharply with her black hair. The lightness of her eyebrows betrayed the use of hair dye. So the carpet doesn't match the curtains, he joked privately, eyeing her figure through the tight fitting clothes as he approached as non-threateningly as he could. Mindful of another erection rising, he was thankful he was wearing jeans so it would not be obvious as he stepping through the threshold and greeted the woman with a soft handshake.

She seemed to hesitate for a moment, as though deciding whether to continue the warm welcome with a peck on the cheek and Craig wondered for a moment whether she somehow noticed the trace of a hard-on in his pants.

"Hello." She said with supreme and rehearsed cordiality, flashing her teeth once more through pink lipstick.

"Hello."

"Please come in." She continued politely as she closed the door behind him and set about resetting the door locks, of which there were several by the sounds of things.

"Thank you." He replied idly as he examined his surroundings and was immediately struck by how clean and expensive everything looked. Much like the woman's teeth behind him, the walls and carpet shone a harsh white, even amongst the gloom. The windows were boarded up from both outside and inside and blocked out much of the natural light, leaving a shaft of natural sunshine to trickle down through the staircase before him and dribble throughout.

Although the décor was inviting and the cream leather couches in the lounge room to his right seemed comfortable at a first glance, he felt as though he was either standing in a dentist's ward or a military grade clean room. He half expected someone in an astronaut suit to come down the stairs and continue the hearty welcome through a filtered helmet. Amongst the stinging cleanliness, he was suddenly very mindful of the dirt that clung to his boots.

However, a glimpse of cut flowers, tulips by the looks of things on a dining table to his left helped reassure him that indeed this was someone's home and not a secret government facility of some sort.

Looking past the bleached colour scheme, he could see the more subtle details, such as the dining table that appeared to be an antique piece possibly made of mahogany, the large plasma screen TV in the lounge and the large mirror before him which showed both his own reflection and the woman behind him. This place has some money, he surmised. The guy upstairs must be rich and this woman is his trophy wife. A quick examination of her figure in the mirror's reflection showed that she didn't appear to have any obvious hints of plastic surgery such as gravity defying breasts or overly plump lips, but she was obviously used to wearing make up, unnatural neatness and had a particularly trim figure for someone who appeared to be in her early forties. Craig reasoned cynically, that if she looked like she was 42, she must really be 47 or some such. He would find out later.

Right now, he had to be the nice stranger.

Heavy feet on the stairs above him preceded the entrance of the man from upstairs, who led with an outstretched hand looking for a firm handshake.

"Nice to meetcha, my friend. I'm Greg." Judging by the neat shirt and trousers he wore, he must be an office worker, Craig decided thinking his initial impressions all the more correct with each passing second.

Craig clutched his outstretched hand and shook vigourously. "Hey that's funny, my name's Greg, too! Isn't that funny?" Craig lied with forced laughter.

Greg smiled and let out a series of guffaws as his wife smiled on diligently. "Hey yeah, mate. Us Greg's have gotta stick together. This is my wife Glenda."

"Nice to meet you." Craig smiled again, absently thankful his erection was slowly subsiding.

She cocked her head in acknowledgement still smiling as though it had been painted on her face.

Craig turned back to Greg, who had his hands on his hips. "So, Greg, you musta been through some bad stuff getting outta the city to get out here."

Craig felt a little creative, "Yeah, you wouldn't believe it. I was working late at the office in the city when I was almost mugged in the street. I managed to run away and get home, but my wife and kids were…" he paused morosely, looking down to his boots. "I was too late."

Finally, Craig managed to see something different crack the skin on Glenda's face as she pouted with sympathy, clutching his arm. "Oh you poor thing."

Craig continued to stare at the floor, trying to appear as though he was about to cry. "Yeah… um… I had to…. y'know….. They're better off now. Not one of them, those things. I did the best I could."

Greg laid a hand on his shoulder with sympathy seemingly much more genuine than Glenda's, "Hey, Greg, you did what you had to do. I'm so sorry."

Muffled steps on the staircase broke the sorrow in the air.

Greg's face brightened. "Oh yeah, hey! Come on down kids!. There's a nice man who we rescued!"

One by one they shyly walked down the stairs, their eyes fixated on their new visitor. There were three of them as they proceeded down from oldest to youngest.

The first was a teenage girl, her waved blonde hair hiding much of her face as she seemed to hesitate between deciding whether to be shy or stoically polite like her mother had been. Although he tried to make eye contact, he couldn't help but quickly glance at her chest which was disappointingly hidden by a felt jacket.

"This is Katey." Greg gestured proudly, but she only waved shyly in return without saying a word.

Next was a young boy, most likely only just having become a teenager who seemed much more confident than Katey. He stood tall and straight as though he was being judged whether he could enter a carnival ride.

"This is Ben." Greg continued with another wave of his hand.

"Hey." Ben replied, obviously deepening his voice to try and sound more like a man than he appeared to be.

Craig decided to take advantage of the boy's goofy attempt, "Hey. So you're the other man in the house?"

"Yup." He replied again with the artificially deep voice with apparent confidence.

Craig remembered what it was like to be a boy on the cusp of puberty. You wanted to be a man and you were one in the eyes of your friends who also wanted to be men, but everyone else shot you down and reminded you of how much more growing up you had to do first.

You still wore novelty pyjamas, you didn't really shave yet, you had pimples and you had no idea about girls and weren't quite sure if you wanted to despite your movie role models and the older kids saying you should.

Grinning, Craig also remembered how impressionable he was as a young man. He made a mental note to keep this in mind as to whether he could use Ben's possible naivety at a later stage.

Lastly, Greg waved his hand towards a little girl crouched at the top of the stairs, wearing a yellow summer dress. "And this is Rose."

She was the little girl he had first seen wave down to him from the upstairs window. She had waved and smiled with such unbridled excitement, like a child on a sugar high, but now she was subdued and shy, much like her older sister but more so. Craig waved as disarmingly as he could and tried to exude a particularly fatherly tone of voice, "Hello Rose."

She simply stared back and shivered with either abject terror or nervous fascination. Craig couldn't tell which.

Greg broke the silence, "Hey kids, Greg and us are gonna do some grown-up talk. Can you guys stay upstairs for a while?"

Despite her previous shyness, Katey rolled her eyes at her father. "Ok Daddy." And she guided them back upstairs, Rose exploding in a flurry of stamping feet and Ben shuffling up with disappointment. However, Craig was genuinely surprised to see Katey smile back down at him just before she disappeared beyond the ceiling. It was only a small one, but it was more encouraging than the blinding flashes her mother had so far bestowed on him.

Catching a look of himself in the large mirror, he supposed he looked like the stereotype attractive stranger in a leather jacket a teenage girl might fantasize about. He hoped he was right. She seemed quite attractive herself and the fleeting thought of having sex with someone close to half his age sent a guilty tingle down towards his scrotum.

Glenda motioned towards the lounge, "Please take a seat. Can I get you anything?"

"No thank you. I'm fine." Craig responded politely, taking a seat on a plush leather couch on one side of the room, whilst Greg and Glenda sat on an identical couch on the opposite, separated by an oak coffee table.

Craig got the conversation started, "So your house seems pretty well set up here. I saw your windows boarded up."

Greg spoke replied as Glenda sat with perfect posture and ladylike poise, "Yeah, I was in town yesterday morning when I was attacked. Inverloch was a warzone, even at 9 in the morning. I was lucky to get back here in one piece." His hand absently wrapped around Glenda's as they squeezed tightly. "So I got right back here and we saw the news. I boarded up the house as quick as I could."

Indeed, Greg seemed to have done a good job. The wooden boards and planks used seemed sturdy and had been smoothly hammered into the window frames. They looked secure and hid them from whatever prying eyes might be outside. "It looks good. I was down the road at another house."

"Oh God, do you know which one? Who were they?" Glenda blurted out, shocked.

"They weren't at home, but someone called Alice was there."

"Oh God. That's Jean and Mark's place. Is Alice OK?"

Craig shifted a little uncomfortably in his seat, "No…… She attacked me…. She was one of them. But she's at peace now."

Glenda's previously immaculate demeanour broke in an instant. Tears started streaming through her fingers and she erupted in a series of loud sobs. Greg tried to comfort her, but he couldn't calm her shaking hands.

Craig continued. "You don't want to go there. I was attacked by 6 of those zombies, but I managed to take care of them all."

With his arms still wrapped around her in a consolatory hug, he stared back at Craig in utter shock. "You took care of 6 zombies? How did you do that?"

"I found a rifle in the bedroom there."

Glenda recoiled from her husband, gently shrugging him off. "Excuse me." She walked out of the lunge back towards the kitchen as Greg's eyes followed her with painful uselessness.

He turned back towards Craig and he suddenly looked a lot older and tired. Grey bags under his eyes betrayed the burden on his mind. "This whole zombie thing has been such a shock, especially for Glenda. She knows lots of people 'round here. We've been watching the news reports, CNN, mostly. All hell is breaking loose, mate. I tell you it's the end of the world."

Craig feigned surprise, "Really, you think? How bad is it?"

Greg clutched his hands in front of him to steady his nerves. "The President in America has declared marshall law and the army are trying to secure things. Here, there are reports that the cities are warzones. Under siege. Who knows if anyone's still alive? I tell you, mate. You musta been damn lucky you got out when you did."

"So have you been able to contact anyone else out here?"

"Nah, mate. As far as we know, we might be the only ones left alive out here!" Greg's hands started shaking despite his efforts and his eyes welled up with tears. "Mate, how fucked up is that?"

"Yeah." Craig mumbled absently. He found Greg's breakdown repulsive. A sign of weakness. Julia was a young girl, and even she had more spine than this worm, he spat silently.

Greg smiled through his moist eyes, unaware of Craig's private scalding, "Well, mate. You've taken care of 6 zombies. You're a man who knows how to take care of himself. I feel so much better that you found us."

Craig decided to lay it on thick, "Well, I've killed over 10 zombies, some I had to do with a piece of wood or run over with a car. But I'll lay it down for you, mate. I'll take care of you guys. I got a rifle in the car and some tools and piping that can be used as weapons. And like I said before, I brought lots of food and water."

Greg's shoulders relaxed, "Mate, you are a godsend!" he thrust his hand out, grabbing Craig's hand like a drowning man clasping onto a rescuer. "You really are."

"Yeah, well like you said," Craig smiled with a wicked anticipation that Greg did not detect. "Us Greg's have gotta stick together."

Glenda walked back into the room, her eyes were puffy and a mild shade of bloodshot pink as she shrugged off the sobs and settled back into her polite facade. Greg turned to her, clutching her hand tightly as she sat down next to him with a loving smile. "Glenda, you should hear what Greg has been through. He really knows how to fight. It's so great he's here to help protect us."

Glenda's body language and posture changed, her cardboard smile softening into a tired and grateful sigh. She meant it this time, he thought. She looked much prettier smiling when she meant it. "Really?"

"Yeah, he's killed over 10 zombies. Smacked 'em right in the head, right?" Greg boasted.

Glenda was obviously uncomfortable with the thought of violence and swallowed down her revulsion, "Oh. That's great."

Craig turned on the charm, "I know how to defend myself and I brought weapons and supplies with me. I'll guard your family with my life I assure you."

Glenda's face brightened as she smiled again with genuine appreciation.

Greg piped in, "Say, Greg, what do you do anyway?"

Craig responded straight away without pausing, thinking of Julia, "I'm an accountant. I'm sure you could see the Audi I pulled up in. I'm not a poor man." He forced out a laugh, presuming Greg was in the same career.

Greg's eyebrows lifted, impressed, "Really? I'm an engineer, I mostly work in town in Inverloch." In contrast to Glenda's relaxing posture, Greg stiffened, presumably a product of his professional attitude as he continued, "I'm helping building a new apartment complex there. Ten stories high, eighty eight rooms right on the beach front." Craig felt as though Greg had suddenly turned into a real estate agent and Greg seemed to sense it himself, pausing and relaxing his tight shoulders before continuing again. "We've only really just moved here, but the locals have been so nice to us…."

The conversation stopped dead in the air.

Glenda broke the broke the uneasy tension. "Oh, you said you brought supplies. Should we help you get them inside?"

Greg rose from the couch enthusiastically at the idea of something pro-active to do. He was positively the proudest man in the company of Craig. He practically worshipped him at the prospect of the protection he appeared to bring. Craig concluded that Greg's fleshy figure betrayed a lifestyle behind a desk and hardly ever in the company of exercise. Not that he could criticise given his former penchant for drunken nights spent alone in his dark hotel room back home. Nevertheless, Craig had proven himself already capable of defending himself, but he worried that Greg would be hopeless in the same situation. Could he even lift a metal pole, let alone kill a zombie with it? he wondered.

Craig led the way outside with Greg following in behind rather timidly. Craig feared his suspicions were indeed correct, but questioned whether that could in fact be a good thing. It would be an easy excuse or explanation as to why Greg might mysteriously die, he reasoned.

Craig asked what was in the garage, which prompted Greg to smile proudly and show off a Volkswagen Touereg inside. Craig whistled with genuinely admiration. Greg was indeed a well off man.

Together they loaded Craig's supplies inside into the kitchen and Craig parked the Audi inside next to the Volkswagen.

The garage was connected through to the kitchen via a green door which he proceeded through and laid the gun case on the dining table. Ben stood alone in the room with him and eyed the gun case with a mixture of fear, excitement and admiration.

Craig turned him with a dark look in his eyes, "You better not touch this, son. The gun's dangerous. You wouldn't want to blow a hole in your Mummy, now would you?"

Ben shivered at the thought and seemed to shrink under Craig's towering height, "No sir."

"Good." Craig left the room, leaving Ben alone with the case as he argued privately whether to sneak a look, but the thought of making Craig angry scared the 'heebeejeebees' out of him as he put it and he retreated to his bedroom.

Later, Greg introduced Craig to the study at the back of the house which was to serve as his bedroom. It was a relatively small room, especially compared to the rest of the house. He had brought in a mattress and a clothes rack, but the bare features and walls of the room reminded Craig of his jail cell back at Barwon prison.

Strangely, Craig did not feel uneasy about the idea and set about bringing in his clothes and making himself comfortable.

Later, everyone gathered in the kitchen for lunch, but no one seemed to have anything to say. Craig wasn't sure whether it was because of his presence or the maudlin brought on by the zombie plague.

Nevertheless, Glenda tried her utmost to dispel the pall with a motherly suggestion, "Y'know what? Why don't I cook a nice roast?"

Everyone immediately approved and looked to Craig for confirmation. Craig, after having eaten corn and spam for breakfast, gave an expected approval. He patted his stomach and replied heartily, "Most definitely ma'am."

Glenda blushed, "Oh please, call me Glenda."

Seizing on the lifted mood, Greg caught everyone's attention, "Well, why don't leave Mom to do her thing and we'll keep watch, huh?"

The children filed out and disappeared again up the stairs to the bedrooms.

Unsure of how to occupy his new visitor, Greg slapped himself when a seemingly obvious idea popped into his head, "Oh hey Greg, I should give you a tour of the house. Where are my manners?"

The house was built around the central staircase which served as a hollow spine of sorts for the rest of the layout. Behind the lounge a sliding door led into the kitchen, filled with expensive stainless steel appliances and a seemingly out-of-place card table in the middle. A small hallway led to the master bedroom and peeled off to the study on the right and snaked around to the dining room to the left back towards the front of the house. Craig eyed the pale gold curtains that lined the boarded windows and compared them against the white fluffy carpet.

The carpet really doesn't match the curtains, he joked privately as Greg led him upstairs.

A simple stretch of hallway parallel to the stairway contained three doors for each of the children's bedrooms. Katey's overlooked the backyard and Ben's and Rose's rooms looked over the front of the house. All of which had their entry doors closed.

Well, almost, Craig noted Katey's bedroom door at the mouth of the stairs was slightly ajar and he managed to sneak a look through the crack as Greg concluded his tour and disappeared back down. He could see she was lying on her stomach on her bed reading a book of some sort.

His own oldest daughter had always kept a disgustingly pink and untidy existence in her bedroom, but Katey was nearly an exact opposite. Much like her mother's upkeep of the house, her room was organised and functional with a queen's size bed flanked by a computer desk. Everything was neatly arranged and seemed to have its place. She barely had any posters on her walls, only a solitary boy band which Craig did not recognise.

Eyeing her for a moment, Craig then turned and followed Greg downstairs.

Katey frowned and looked towards her door. She thought she sensed or heard something, but a puzzled glance was quickly followed by a shrug as she returned to her reading.

It did not take particularly long for Glenda to announce the roast was ready, sending warm gusts of delicious aromas throughout the house. Craig was drawn like a moth to a flame as were the others it seemed. Rose skipped around the house excitedly, but still did not say a word.

Sitting down around the dining table, Craig looked down and swore he had never felt so hungry before in his life. It had been a long time indeed since he had beheld a meal of this quality before. He had been used to prison food and takeaway for the passed few years now, devoid of the home cooking that Kathy used to serve.

But now he was salivating over juicy roast chicken, crispy roast potatoes, soft sweet roast pumpkin, buttery beans and caramel roasted onions. An old classic done well.

Heaven, Craig sighed.

Craig strangely felt at home and relaxed during the meal. He didn't feel the need to pretend or tell any more lies. They all laughed and enjoyed the home cooked meal in spite of the situation. Although it was always in the back of Craig's mind, the family behaved as though the zombie plague was a dream and today was just another day.

Indeed, the children managed to make light of it, revelling in the prospect of never having to do homework again or answer to teachers and bullies. Craig sighed when he remembered how much he had entertained the fantasy as a child, like any other kid. But it wasn't him being cut free of those obligations, rather these spoiled little shits, he grumbled privately. Craig had never handled jealousy well as a child or even as an adult, and he consciously had to stifle his mild anger by focussing on the food before him. It was deliciously easy to do, he realised thankfully.

Despite the roast lunch engulfing his senses in agonising ecstasy, he couldn't help but steal glances at Katey in between hurried bites and conversation. He swore that on more than one occasion she met his gaze for fleeting moments, flashes of ever more confident curiosity in her eyes, but mostly kept to herself or laughed with her siblings.

Almost to the second Greg finished and laid his knife and fork on his plate, a pounding at the door sent everyone sitting bolt upright in their chairs and Greg and Craig's eyes instantly met. Greg's were wide with fear. Craig was at first angry for the interruption, but quickly realised the value of the potential opportunity to demonstrate his worth and win trust.

Keen to impress, he immediately took control and started barking orders, "Glenda go upstairs, look out the window and tell us what you see. Katey, take Ben and Rose to your room and look after them. Greg-", Craig's stare bore holes in the man as the gravity of the situation and his responsibility sunk in. "you're with me."

Craig was surprised to see everyone immediately jump out of their chairs and set about their responsibilities without hesitation. Glenda and the children quickly disappeared up the stairs and Craig headed for the front door with Greg in tow.

"I've got the rifle, you take the axe." Craig ordered sternly.

"I'm with ya, mate." Greg replied eagerly as his adrenal gland started throwing a party through his bloodstream.

Craig opened the gun case and was halfway through loading it when Glenda yelled back.

"Oh God, it's a zombie. There's only one of them!"

Greg yelled back, "You sure?"

"Yeah."

Craig put the rifle back and grabbed the steel pipe, "Don't need a bullet for just one of them. You open the door and I'll charge it and kill it."

Greg was jittery with fear and excitement as he fumbled with the door locks. "You ready?"

With a calm detachment, Craig eyed the pipe that lay propped up against the wall by the door. He had wiped it clean since his encounter with the nameless old man from last night, but as soon as his fingers touched the cold steel, his heart began racing. It was perhaps the first time he actually had time to properly prepare himself for an encounter and comprehend what he was about to do.

He was about to kill someone, in front of an audience no less. The thought of both Glenda and Katey draping themselves over him in wanton gratitude was intensely arousing.

With the pipe gripped securely in his hands, he turned to a waiting Greg and counted.

"One, two, three GO!"

Greg shoved the door open and Craig immediately charged outside with the pipe over his shoulder ready to swing.

The midday sun was bright and blinded him for a split second before he could clearly see the zombie intruder below the upstairs bedroom window where it could see Glenda. Even as Craig steadied himself and prepared for the confrontation, the undead creature still reached and growled up the wall for the warm flesh it could not reach, oblivious to the real threat.

It was a half naked woman, thin and gaunt as her drying skin pulled tightly around her body and face. Her black hair was a tussled mess and blocked much of her peripheral vision. Nevertheless, her sense of hearing picked up Craig's encroaching step on the paving and she turned to regard him.

Their eyes met for a very brief moment before the angry woman charged towards him with gnarled fingers. Strangely, Craig could see no obvious wounds on her or blood stains and quickly surmised she must have turned by the blood flu like Julia's flatmate must have.

However, he had no time to ponder the thought further as he planted his feet and swung the pipe like a baseball into her neck.

The impact was given away by a distinct and sharp crack as the woman's neck broke and her body fell from beneath her. Like a heavy sack of potatoes, she collapsed limply onto the ground.

The powerful repel of her attack was almost comical. One second she was a rabid animal, and now she was lying on the ground as though passed out. Craig felt like laughing.

Glenda screamed.

"Jesus Christ! You got her!" Greg exclaimed excitedly.

She had fallen on her stomach, but Craig could see her face was still twitching. Casually, trying to look like he'd done it a million times before, he raised the pipe and smashed it down on the monster's head, crushing her skull and killing her.

"Oh shit! What did you do that for?"

Craig turned and faced Greg, looking him right in the eyes with fierce intensity, "I broke her neck, but she was still twitching. I have to make sure she's dead." He looked down at the body. "She is now."

"Oh." He said staring down at her broken corpse.

"Greg, have you got a place I could put her?"

"Um… round the back, there's a shed." He mumbled as his face turned pale and he appeared unstable on his feet. He had never seen a dead body so clearly as now. He had never seen someone killed so coldly and with such little emotion. No one is ever supposed to see this brutality, he lamented privately.

"OK, you go inside. Look after your kids, I'll take care of this." Craig ordered, eager to get rid of him before he emptied his dinner all over the place.

Greg surged for the door, murmuring his agreement and disappeared inside.

Turning back to the sorry heap before him, Craig grabbed the zombie's feet and started dragging the body around the side towards the backyard. Sensing eyes on him, he looked up and saw Katey staring back down on him from the bedroom window Glenda had been in before. She looked at him much like Rose did, with fearful fascination, but did not turn away as Craig met her gaze.

Unsmiling, he bent back down again and continued dragging the corpse away.

Katey stared until he rounded the corner and then ran to her bedroom to continue watching him in the backyard. The hairs on her arms stood on end as though a cold breeze filled her room as he disappeared inside the shed. The last glimpse she saw was the fingertips of the unfortunate woman eaten up by the darkness inside the shed, disappearing like worms burrowing into the ground.

Having finished with his grisly task, Craig stepped back outside and closed the door behind him. He saw no one looking down on him, unaware that Katey had continued watching him and withdrew away from her window before he came out again.

Back inside, everyone was huddled on the couches, holding hands and taking shelter under Glenda's comforting hugs. A mother always does that best, Craig sighed as he turned for the dining room to finish off his lunch. He had two potatoes left to dispose off and he promptly ate them even though they had grown cool.

As he finished, Greg shambled in and collapsed into the chair opposite. His eyes were blotchy and red. He must have thrown up, Craig guessed.

"Thank you. I don't think I could have done that." He mumbled, staring down into his shivering hands.

"I didn't either at first. But I had to. No choice." Craig rested his knife and fork down on his plate and spoke with dark detachment, as though describing to someone how to replace a lightbulb. "You will have to as well sometime. You have a family. Your instinct will look after you when the time comes."

Greg tried to accept the consolation as he buried his head in his hands.

Craig dropped the topic. "You guys should go to bed and relax or something. I'll stay up and watch in case any more show up."

"Yep." He dragged himself up like he was lifting a heavy weight and shuffled away again.

Craig sat there alone with his thoughts for quite a while, feeling a little down. As he rose and placed his dirty plate in the sink, he felt realized he was jealous of Greg. Greg actually had a family he loved, he thought. Apart from the obvious catastrophe of the undead plague, he was a happy man.

Too bad he was planning to kill them all…. except for Katey. He had other plans for her.


	9. Around the World

CHAPTER 9 (re-written)

**CHAPTER 9 (re-written)**

Craig wandered down into the lounge, sitting down on the couch and shifting around until he was particularly comfortable. The leather couches were very soft, but cold to the touch.

He was effectively alone in the lounge room. The children had retreated upstairs quietly and Greg and Glenda had also disappeared into their master bedroom.

Bored with the stillness of his surroundings, he turned on the gargantuan plasma television and flicked through the numerous channels of static until CNN and another local channel of sort came on.

The local channel appeared to be a rustic attempt at a public announcement service constantly repeating well worn advice, seemingly taken from corny zombie movies as much as real world wisdom.

Quickly growing bored of the repetition, he changed back to CNN to be confronted with more depressing content. However, the attractiveness of the newsreaders and polish of the presentation value was much better.

The focus of news reports and updates were not on cities, but had graduated to entire countries and continents. Cities seemed to lose their importance since it seemed more or less no one was left alive in them. They were largely no go zones, hotbeds of roaming carnivores.

Official theories estimated that over two thirds of the population had died from the blood flu during the night two days ago and reanimated as members of the undead. Unsuspecting family members, friends and neighbours were quickly attacked and turned, flooding out into the streets once immediate targets had run dry.

The fortunate few that woke during the night or had been untouched until the morning, made their attempts to escape or stand their ground. There were two reasons why so many more people died.

The first being that no one knew exactly what was happening and no one grasped the gravity of the catastrophe. It was a preposterous thing to believe that zombies would suddenly appear and ravage the world like they did. So many other explanations seemed much more plausible. Drug crazed hoodlums, a demonstration somehow running loose as a full scale riot, criminals and gangs fighting out turf wars with unbridled fury or escaped prisoners running wild in an orgy of blood and violence.

All of these knee-jerk theories seemed much more believable than something out of a corny movie with fake blood, bad acting and gratuitous teenage nudity.

Yet it happened before people had time to properly grapple with the revelation and devise a response.

Those that somehow did were faced with two choices. The oldest of human instincts.

Fight or flight.

Due to the concentration of threats, those that stayed were generally overrun by sheer numbers during the first day. The average front door was no match for an adult zombie at the height of its bloodlust, never mind the paltry defence of the glass of a window.

Those that managed to stage an escape attempt also largely failed for a variety of reasons. The first being the immediate concern and rescue attempts for family members and friends, which often proved futile in the wake of the bloody chaos.

Secondly, people were either unaware or unable to grasp the realisation that a zombie's bite meant death and transformation (often because the idea of zombies had not yet been considered). Those that cradled injured family members and friends in the back seat of the car or in the hopeful sanctity of their home were obviously horrified to watch their loved ones suddenly awaken and attack them.

Thirdly, most people seemed to either travel towards the same types of places or via the same route. Consequently, freeways and highways promptly blocked and people trapped in the traffic jams were fodder when floods of zombies caught up.

Those that managed to survive seemed, by and large, those that were either living in rural and remote areas or had easy access to them. The further away people lived and the less concentrated the population, the better people seemed to find their way.

Despite the global breadth of the situation, media resources seemed to somehow manage to capture the action. It was as though journalists were the only people left alive and reporting on themselves.

As was the news station's nature, the majority of the air time focussed on the situation in America. More or less the entire country had been overrun and no single state was left uncontaminated. Every major city was now a no go zone with no official presence to rely on. Even Washington DC had been abandoned by the administration in favour of secret government bunkers. The total estimated dead was over 300 million.

Despite the inopportunity of the situation, reporters seemed to buzz with excitement as it was revealed that Area 51 did in fact exist and was now home to numerous officials and people of high standing. However, even now the military refused to disclose anything about little green Martians, still staunchly defending the facility's top secret treasures, whatever they might be.

Reports also came in from Canada and Alaska which seemed to be the favourite destination for survivors and runners. Indeed, the mortality rate there was markedly lower and safe zones were more numerous. The accepted reason for this was due to the region's greater prevalence of wilderness and areas of minimal population. Small and remote towns in the mountains and forests became oases, shielded from the zombie threat through sheer distance and isolation.

Despite the crisis or perhaps because of it, George Bush was available for media comment and spoke at length and with heavy sorrow (whether real or rehearsed, Craig couldn't tell). Behind the patriotic stars of an immaculate American flag and flanked by stony faced military bodyguards, he spoke at length of the need to pray and the hope that his proud countrymen would prevail.

However, the lack of dependable words outlining a strategy or a hint towards some sort of counter attack revealed the true picture of where everyone stood.

Everyone was on their own. The military had established several safe zones, but they were few and very far between. Screening policies had been brutal and many people had been turned away either through overcrowding or in the paranoid fear of infection and contamination. Craig could understand the need to keep so many people out.

It's better that someone survives than no one at all, he reasoned.

Official estimates of the number of survivors were only twenty thousand. The media seemed to focus on the number of survivors versus the number of dead given the casualty rate was so incomprehensible. However there was no way to know how many people were alive outside the safe zones. One commentator hypothesised that more people in fact were alive outside the safe zones than in them, but could not venture a guess at how many.

Despite the safe zones having been established however, Craig suspected that there was no guarantee they would remain secure. This was confirmed when a frantic feed came from one such place where footage through the digital blur from the front lines showed the outer wall being breached and the undead horde flooding in with unnatural speed and power. Within seconds the feed was lost and the newsreader simply sighed dejectedly into the camera.

Another one bites the dust, Craig thought with dry humour. They're half a world away. Who give's a shit?

Onward the reports progressed with a more fleeting run down on the situation globally.

Europe was much like America and had comprehensively fallen to the undead swarm. The military response had been severely hampered by the abruptness of the plague and the lack of information and had fallen flat with minimal resistance. The upper echelons of government had largely been preserved in key countries, especially Germany, England, France, but some had failed and were without clear leadership.

Not that there were many people to lead, Craig joked.

Or it was unknown what the situation was at all, with no contacts available as was the case in numerous countries in the south and east. Or perhaps CNN couldn't be bothered. Perhaps they thought countries like Belarus, Moldova or Estonia were immaterial in the grand scheme of things and that most people wouldn't care anyway. Likely most Americans had never heard of these countries, let alone be able to find them on a map. Just like that, the fate of over 15 million people were forgotten or glossed over, judged as immaterial. Trivial in comparison to the bigger picture.

Just like America, the amount of people that were now either dead or comprised part of the undead numbered in the ninety nine point something percentage. The total estimated dead was over 750 million.

Small pockets of humanity bravely turned their backs to the cold wind that was the zombie plague, holding off against impossible odds.

Slightly more encouraging compared to America, the official estimate of confirmed survivors was in the hundreds of thousands, but unofficial estimates were again higher to take into account unknown survivors. Numerous people were thought to have fled to the more remote and deserted areas of their respective countries, the Russian country side, the northern isles of England, the various islands throughout the Mediterranean and whatever other stretches of bare or rugged land where distance and remoteness provided a barrier against the rest of the world.

Gordon brown, the English Prime Minister joined in the calls for prayer, his demeanour solemn inside the makeshift, yet still spotless press room of his military compound he had been whisked away to.

South American reports were very sketchy and details were not forthcoming. As it was, much of South America was already under the grip of either civil war or civil unrest of some sort and the zombie plague seemed only a continuation of whatever carnage was already in progress. Safe to say, the media stuck with the idea that everyone must be dead except for small pockets of resistance.

Africa was next and was quickly skipped over once it had been established that nothing of substance was known. The zombie plague had indeed erupted there too, but no one had any idea of specifics other than having lost communication with South Africa and the northern fringes stretching from Morocco to Egypt yesterday. All other countries had not appeared on the radar at all. An African media representative hypothesised that African militias were either playing a key role in protecting whatever pockets of life remained or were opportunistically raping and pillaging, confounding the atrocity.

The story emanating from the Middle East, however was more interesting. Just like the rest of the world, the entire region had succumbed to the hellish onslaught, however the population had exhibited a far more religious reaction. Mass suicides signalled a last act of defiance for many in the face of the plague that was labelled by many extremist leaders as being of Western origin. Militants were convinced it was an American biological weapon and the start of an all out war. Moderate voices had no time to quell the hysteria as people committed suicide in the belief that a death at the hand of the 'unholy Western' plague would send them to hell, whereas a martyr's sacrifice would instead guarantee entrance to heaven.

Nevertheless, the vast majority of deaths in the region occurred prior to this call, as a result of blood flu infections and initial attacks.

Now, only small pockets of resistance still existed and only two journalists had contact with the outside world to file reports, one in Saudi Arabia and one in Israel.

However, the military presence in Iraq seemed to be the single place of relative safety. Several existing compound administered and guarded by occupying Western forces and private security contractors housed numerous survivors. Safe zones were quickly declared and sealed off from infected areas, guarded viciously. As it was, it was difficult to know whether survivors requesting safe haven were in fact suicide bombers or infected. The quarantine procedures were brutal, but judged necessary.

It was ironic to think that their presence there was those soldiers' saving grace. Had they been back in their respective home countries and off duty upon the outbreak, they might well be dead, Craig chuckled dryly. It was highly likely whatever family they had back home now were.

Asia was an enigma. Japan was much like the rest of the Western world and reports were on hand showing that the vast majority of the population were indeed dead. Whatever survivors that remained were in dire trouble, sardined into precarious safe havens that were likely to give out any second under the weight of the ravenous enemy. It was awe inspiring to see the paltry steel fencing of a compound holding back the tide of tens of thousands of the monsters. A great sea of blood and flesh thrashing with unholy hunger, soldiers manning their posts fingering their triggers nervously.

Mainland China and most surrounding regions, from Malaysia all the way to Russia, were a great unknown. No details were forthcoming whatsoever. Government representatives were silent. They could not be reached and the paltry independent media presence was either shut down or dead.

Was China dead? Or hiding? Or even untouched and under fierce quarantine? The theories and questions buzzed, but were met with only further conjecture.

Through it all, Craig had waited patiently, absorbing the reports around the rest of the world through the blurring hours of the afternoon until a useful update about Australia finally emerged.

It was as expected. Australia's main cities were death zones and declared off limits. Only twenty thousand official survivors were reported, contained in rural military bases and townships. The red centre, the home of the dusty desert was the central hub of a relief shelter network and the home of the Prime Minister Kevin Rudd who enjoyed a brief showing joining the calls for prayer.

Craig adjusted himself on the couch, mulling over the prospect of uprooting and heading for Alice Springs in the central desert to join them. It was a drive of over two thousand kilometres from here, two days of solid driving and over four tank's worth of petrol.

Risky and undesirable. He would have to kowtow to whatever security or police presence was there and behave himself. Fuck that, he cursed.

Throughout the global run down, various scientists reported on findings they had made regarding zombie anatomy, physiology and theories as to the cause of the plague. It was indeed an agreed position that the zombie phenomenon was driven by a pathogen that had so far a 100 per cent mortality rate.

There was no doubt that the blood flu was the initial form of the pathogen, however they were at a loss to explain where it came from and how it seemed to culminate at, more or less, the same time around the world. Everything from a secret bio-weapon to a mutated form of AIDS to a mutation of the bird flu was bandied about, but nothing was confirmed.

Predictably, religious figures proclaimed it was God's punishment. A plague to stamp out the weak and sinful. However, this could not be explained by the fact that the Vatican had been lost to the plague and the Pope was dead too. Nevertheless, the self righteous few persevered, delighting in telling everyone they would soon die too.

However it had been confirmed at a high level how the virus operated. A group of scientists in America had monitored the fresh infection and eventual decline and reanimation of a young woman. She lay on a strapped hospital bed with a myriad of cables and wires snaking their way from her veins, skin and various bodily orifices to computer banks that recorded every detail of her ordeal.

Her name was Olivia.

She was a fellow scientist that had volunteered her death to science after having been lightly bitten during a skirmish in a makeshift morgue. A corpse had not been properly strapped down and it attacked her.

Over the next hour, she progressively became more sick and showed ever more acute signs of the blood flu. Bleeding sinuses, headaches, fever and gradual loss of cognitive ability. The updates continued until she finally expired, slipping peacefully into death as though simply falling asleep. The official time count was only 19 seconds until her reanimation, signalled by her eyes re-opening.

After exactly seven seconds laying completely still in the bed, staring blankly up at the ceiling, she suddenly erupted in an angry fit. Her reaction had been anticipated by the multitude of straps that held her down, limiting her straining body to only minor twitches and writhes, but her mouth spewed forth unholy growls and screams with enough zeal to make the scientists in the room back away from her all the same.

Her heart rate had flat lined and her body temperature was steadily dropping.

It was expected that EEG scans of her brainwaves would still show some measure of activity, but no one knew what exactly to expect. During her undead state it was observed that Olivia's delta waves and beta were quite prevalent, but at different times.

When she had initially woken and tried to attack the surrounding researchers, her beta waves were, as one doctor described, "Going nuts." Beta waves, he explained are normally shown during active thinking or anxiety, attributed to her bloodlust.

Leaving her alone in the room, Olivia eventually calmed down and seemed to fall into a relaxed state, as though sleeping with her eyes open whereupon her beta waves subsided, replaced by prevalent delta waves, which are normally associated with deep sleep.

This was not particularly unusual other than the intensity of the waves, shown by their amplitude. The scribbles on the printouts were a mess of peaks and troughs of such aggression that the scientists initially thought something must be wrong with the EEG machine.

PET and MRI scans also showed brain activity markedly different to normal. The neuroscientist being interviewed by the attractive newswoman started talking to a rainbow of various colours overlayed on a brain cross-section and, although Craig had trouble following the heavily jargoned language, the outcome was fairly clear.

Higher mental functions had been replaced by a more primal and primitive mind.

The frontal lobe appeared to have shut down in favour of the back half of the brain. The frontal lobe housed many of the areas responsible for moral decisions, long term memory and retention and planning. It was thought that this explained why the undead had no sense of identity or memories and behaved violently without apparent problem solving or logical reasoning.

Other areas that showed abnormal or non-existent activity were the precentral gyrus (which processes the sensation of pain, temperature and pressure) and hippocampus (spatial awareness and memory).

However, other areas seemed to exhibit greater activity, especially in the back half of the brain which dealt more with the five senses and motor skills.

Of special mention was the hypothalamus which was responsible for, amongst other things, hunger and anger. In tandem with the lack of activity in the frontal lobe, it helped account for the typically aggressive behaviour and their desire for flesh.

The pockets of spiking brain activity, it was theorised, also helped account for the broader question of why zombies were so aggressive and exhibited only very basic intelligence. It was thought that the lack of overall brain connectivity or activity dulled executive functions and overall cognitive ability.

Through it all, Craig supposed Olivia must have been so proud were she not reduced to an angry corpse. The scientists were understandably so enthralled by their findings that any suggestions regarding putting Olivia out of her misery were shot down.

"This is what she wanted." They said. "This is her sacrifice, which we must use to the fullest extent."

Returning back to basics, it was then officially confirmed as to how contagious the virus was.

It had been established that the blood flu and the zombie pathogen were different stages of the same virus. Those that did not contract the blood flu and turn were somehow naturally immune to that stage of the virus, but not the second stage originally dubbed the "zombie virus." The scientists had already christened the pathogen with a appropriately complicated and difficult to remember Latin name, but Craig instantly forgot it as soon as he heard it.

Importantly, however, it had been confirmed how contagious the zombie virus was. The most obvious was bites, which were the result of saliva, blood and surface bacteria entering the victim's bloodstream via broken skin. This was also the case if a zombie's bodily fluids came into contact with a human's existing open wounds.

If the blood or saliva simple came into contact with a person's skin, it did not result in infection unless it had time to properly absorb into the skin either with time or via rubbing.

Further, cases had been confirmed where a person had accidentally ingested a zombie's blood during an encounter and subsequently turned.

Depending on the strength of the "dose" as they called it, a person could die and turn anywhere from 1 minute to hours afterwards. People who had died naturally were confirmed to not then rise from the dead, but stayed dead, even if the body came into contact with zombie blood. This was presumed to be because the pathogen could not infect the brain and cause zombification when there was no blood flow to the brain and the nerves were not operative.

It was at this time that Greg and Glenda emerged from their bedroom, looking very tired and down trodden.

Without a word, they sat down with Craig and watched attentively as the attractive newsreader then began an interview with an American general with his thoughts on the global catastrophe. He promptly brought forward the suggestion of nuclear cleansing.

"All major cities should be quarantined and bathed in nuclear fire to swiftly destroy the majority of the zombie population." He said ominously directly into the camera.

The comment was a huge turning point for the day. A monumental mistake in diplomacy.

Not half an hour after the interview concluded, the Chinese President, Hu Jintao mysteriously appeared to the world in a scruffy press conference and immediately threatened retaliation if America, or anyone else for that matter, bombed China. There was no mention of his country's present state or those of his neighbours.

Hot on his heels, other countries that were previously silent or quiet erupted in a similar indignant response. India, Russia, Iran, North Korea, even France joined the tidal wave of hostility.

Whether they meant it or not or even had the capability, they all still held to the mentality that they were in charge of their own countries and refused intervention from anyone else. The prospect of nuclear cleansing sent leaders around the world into a spiral of paranoia and threats to retaliate first if that "safeguarded their country's best interests".

Craig, Greg and Glenda looked at each other, the idea of seemingly imminent global nuclear apocalypse left each of them dumbfounded. It was one thing to come to grips with a world flodded by bloodthirsty monsters, but something else entirely covered by deathly mushroom clouds.

"Jesus fucking Christ!" gasped Greg.

"They wouldn't do that! Surely not!" Glenda was shaking, about to cry.

Greg had no breath to reply.

It was Craig who explained the reality of what was unfolding, "It'll happen. Think about it. China, Russia, the Arab states, they all hate America. It's the end of the world! What better time for them to nuke America off the face of the Earth? It's a perfect excuse."

Both Greg and Glenda stared at him, their mouths open in shock, horrified by the insight.

Craig continued, "But, we're in Australia. Australia doesn't have any nukes. They'll leave us alone, I bet you. We are so small and far away in the grand scheme of things."

Craig's comments seemed to reassure Greg, "Mate, I bloody well hope so." He clutched Glenda's trembling hand in his. Her fingers were icy cold, but she felt hot all over.

"But why nuke everyone anyway? Whatever land is left will be radioactive won't it?" Glenda reasoned.

"Yeah, but whose thinking that far ahead? These guys aren't, it looks like." Craig replied coolly.

Glenda's face seemed to exude a pale green glow as she swallowed, "But what's gonna be left? Will there be a chance to rebuild?"

Craig stared at the TV, Tony Blair was on the screen saying something about global common interest and calming down. "We're on our own. Civilisation's gonna go back to the stone age."


	10. Lost and found

**Author's Note:**

**Thanks to wemomonkey for bringing to my attention a disconnect between chapters 9 and 11. Between the rewrite and the old, the story was disconnected and had jumped ahead two chapters. So here is the fix, being three chapters in all to plug the gap.**

**Apologies for the error.**

**Thanks,**

**Hoobajoo**

**Chapter 10.1**

Throughout the rest of the night, the situation on the news seemed to get no better. The prospect of nuclear war sent everyone into a frenzy around the world. Reporters constantly threw provocative and aggressive questions at world leaders and military representatives, trying to the fire.

Even during the end of the world, ratings seemed to somehow count.

Seemingly reluctantly, the family gathered around the table once more for a meal. Whether it was the aftermath of the unnerving encounter in the front yard during lunch or the sheer size of the portions served up previously, no one seemed particularly hungry. Even Greg who ordinarily would have been hungry after having vomited his lunch earlier displayed little appetite.

Dinner consisted of warmed up leftovers of the roast chicken from before. Even now Craig took the time to sit back and thoroughly enjoy the meal, even if his companions could not.

Rose seemed to be the exception, however. Craig supposed it was her childish detachment that somehow shielded her from the horrors. She was just a little kid. What does she know? How could she comprehend what was going on?

Undoubtedly Glenda and her siblings had attempted to explain everything to her, but could not find the heart to delve into any more detail other than 'bed people were being naughty.'

Glenda tried valiantly in spite of the maudlin, but to no avail as her family (besides Rose) poked at their plates and eventually pushed them away. She did, however smile to see Craig almost lick his plate clean as well as of those around him.

"See? Greg and Rose are eating up." She admonished, turning to her husband who still shone a pale green with nausea. "C'mon honey. You have to get your strength up."

It was good enough to prompt him to consume a solitary potato, as though it was a chore reluctantly performed by a lazy child.

Thankfully, however all was calm. No monsters or 'bad people' tried to break down the door. Greg distinctly appeared as though he would have fainted at the merest hint of the idea.

Glenda seemed to shine mildly as she revealed her secret weapon. The children seemed to sense it as Glenda gathered the plates. Something that everyone liked.

Ice cream.

Instantly everyone smiled and smirked with varying degrees of enthusiasm, including Greg as she turned for the freezer.

It had the desired effect, lifting the morale of her little troops.

The familiar quirks and banters of the family unit soon revealed themselves as they teasingly fought over the trio of flavours offered by the Neapolitan ice cream container.

Craig sat back and watched as the children scrambled and joked with increasing volume with the strawberry and chocolate flavours, leaving the adults to settle with the 'boring white stuff' as Ben put it.

Greg's spirits seemed to rise to the occasion as he joined in the ruckus, playfully threatening to flick his remaining spoonful of melted ice cream at Ben.

Answering with a pre-emptive strike, Rose sent a catapult of goopy pink mush in his direction, which settled on his pristine white shirt. It was a particularly good shot as Greg squealed from the sudden cold contact and the room erupted with laughter before everything erupted into all-out war.

Flecks and balls of ice cream, both icy and melted leaped across the table (and underneath it in search of cheating participants who felt the urge to duck beneath). Ammunition went in all directions and there seemed to be no organised teams until Katey regrouped with her brother and sister to challenge the 'un-co adults'.

They leaped from the table and took cover behind the open fridge door which was promptly splattered. However Glenda managed to smack Katey on the nose with a well placed turn of her wrist when she was too slow to retreat behind their cover.

Craig barked out mock military orders, "cover me!" as he jumped around the table, copping a solid globule of chocolate on his shoulder and reach through the grab Katey.

Despite the howls of protest for cheating, he managed to snake his hands around her lithe torso and pulled her out from cover as she grappled to wipe the stinging dessert out of her eyes. Hoisting her over his shoulder, he proudly proclaimed he claimed her as prisoner of the axis of adults and ran out into the dining room with the rest of the army combatants in tow.

Throughout the rest day, the situation on the news seemed to get no better. The prospect of nuclear war sent everyone into a frenzy. Stupidly, reporters and TV crews constantly threw aggressive questions at world leaders as though trying to get a provocative response to fuel the fire. It was mind-bendingly engaging news, but they were too short sighted to realize what it actually meant.

Even during the end of the world, ratings seemed to somehow count.

The day seemed to disappear so quickly and before anyone realized, it was sunset again. Glenda tried her best to lighten the mood by cooking a nice meatloaf dinner. "The perishable foods like vegetables and meat have to be consumed first out of all of our supplies, so why not enjoy?" she reasoned.

No one argued with that logic.

Everyone seemed relatively relaxed at dinner time, but still kept their ears pricked for another bang on the door like last night.

Nothing this time. All was calm.

Tonight, Craig decided. It was time to take over.

Craig tried his best to hide his excitement as everyone meandered into bed after dinner. No energy to stay up and the depressing news on the TV didn't help either.

Craig volunteered to spend the night on the couch again and stand guard. When the house was quiet, Craig ran through the plan in his mind.

He would use the pipe, first takeout Mum and Dad, no noise. Head upstairs, Ben first, then little Rose. Wham!

Katey would be the only one left.

He could feel his erection straining in his pants. He quietly grabbed the steel pipe leaning against the couch and crept towards the master bedroom.

Carefully and silently, he turned the doorknob and let it swing open. He could see Glenda's hair on her pillow with what looked like Greg's balding head right next to her in the gloom.

The carpet greatly muffled his steps and he checked his stance at the side of the bed and raised the pipe over his head, tensing excitedly.

They were so still. Not a sound.

Good.

Craig swung down hard and heard a satisfying crack as the pipe crashed down on Glenda's head, killing her instantly. Without missing a beat, he whipped the pipe up over his head and smashed it down on Greg skull, again a satisfy crack and he was dead.

Easy.

He wiped the bloodied end of the pipe on the corner of the bedsheet and crept upstairs as carefully as he could. The moonlight streamed in through a skylight in the ceiling casting creepy shadows across the walls. Thankful for the light, he took every step one by one, careful and patient.

Each of the bedroom doors was closed.

Good.

Silently, he stepped up to Ben's door and opened it carefully, trying not to let the door knob make any sound as he turned it.

There he was, sound asleep.

A quick step forward and Craig brought the pipe down as it smashed Ben's skull, a crack and a dull thud as it hit hard into his pillow.

Done.

Little Rosie next.

As he stepped back out, he strained his ears to listen for any sign of movement or alarm.

Nothing.

Tip toeing silently, he opened Rose's door and saw her sleeping soundly in her little fairy themed bed. He would have to be a little more careful with his swing or else he might hit the wooden frame of her bed and possibly wake Katey up.

Two quick and silent steps forward and the pipe crashed down, again a sharp crack and dull thud into the pillow.

Dead.

Looking down at her shattered skull in the moonlight he realized that he had just killed 4 people, just like that. All within 2 minutes.

Goddamn it was a rush!

Now for the prize.

Smiling and trying not to giggle like a little boy, he excitedly tip toed back towards Katey's room. He couldn't hear anything. He turned her door knob and let it swing open, revealing her room.

There she was, just like the others, sleeping soundly in her bed, moonlight streaming through her bedroom window and bathing her face in a pale blue glow.

He crept in and knelt down beside her bed, gazing into her calm face.

She was fairly good looking girl. She was 17 he found out from Greg. "Probably never been broken in", Craig thought to himself.

"Katey." He whispered.

Nothing.

He tapped her on her slightly exposed shoulder. "Katey" he whispered loudly.

She stirred and froze up when she saw Craig, she retreated back across her bed away from him. "What.." she mumbled groggily.

Craig brought his finger to his lips. "Ssssshh. Don't make a sound."

Katey's eyes bulged open in fear, "What's wrong? Is there…"

"No, no it's OK. I wanted to ask you something that's all."

"W-what?"

"Have you ever, y'know, done it before?"

"Huh?"

"I really like you Katey. Do you like me?"

"Greg, please, I don't…"

Craig rose to his feet, not bothering to keep his voice lowered. "Katey, I got some bad news for you. See this pipe?" He casually raised it for her to see. "I just killed your entire family with it while you slept."

Katey started gasping in shock and fear, her eyes welling up.

Craig continued, "But I'm not gonna kill you. I'm gonna keep you. You're mine."

"Get away! Mom!"

"It's no good, Katey." He grinned, baring all of his teeth.

"Greg, please!"

"My name's not Greg."

She stopped and stared at him, her face frozen. "What?"

"My name is Craig. And I'm gonna take what I want."

"No…" she whimpered.

Craig leaned forward as she shrunk back across her bed, clutching the blankets. "I'm going to give you a choice, OK?"

Shivering, she listened.

"If you don't give me what I want, I'm going to throw you outside and watch the zombies eat you."

She shrieked, starting to gasp for air.

"OR!" silencing her crying. 'You co-operate and give me what I want and I'll protect you."

"Please…"

"Katey.."

"Please no…"

He raised his voice sharply, "Your family is dead." he raised the pipe up so the moonlight shone on the tip. Katey could see the glistening blood. "It's just you and me…… now choose."

Crying and spluttering, Katey hesitated, still clutching her blankets over her. Just as Craig moved forward, she shot her hand out, stopping him. "Please…. Just don't kill me. I'll do anything… Please."

A dirty smile crept across Craig's face as he relaxed. "Good girl."

"Please…." Tears streamed down her face.

Craig slowly undid his belt as Katey looked like she was going to throw up. She flinched back.

"Hey!" Craig shouted as she stopped, staring up at him pleadingly.

He unzipped his pants and undid the top button as Katey whimpered. He pushed his pants down slowly, relishing the moment as Katey stared in despair.

Craig let his dick bounce out of his pants out into the cool air, as Katey gasped. He eased his pants further down and let them fall to the floor around his ankles. He began massaging it in his right hand.

Katey simply stared it, shocked.

Craig pointed at it, condescendingly. "Suck.."

Looking up pleadingly at Craig's eyes, she hesitated, then reluctantly crawled across the bed to him, whimpering and crying. She looked down as his dick and sobbed.

She looked back up at him, "Please…"

Craig simply said in a dead voice, "Katey…… suck."

Tears filling her eyes, she slowly opened her mouth and leaned in towards him. She closed her eyes, pushing more tears down her face and she flinched slightly as her lips brushed the head of his dick.

Craig smiled triumphantly and ran his hand through her hair gently. She carefully leaned down, slowly wrapping her lips around his shaft. Clumsily. Obviously she had never done this before.

She slowly moved back and forth, softly touching her tongue against his shaft. Craig could her she was trying her best to suppress her sobs to avoid from choking.

Craig closed his eyes, "Oh yeah… good girl." The exhilaration sending a tingle up his spine and down his shaft…. "Stop!"

Katey immediately leapt back, relieved.

Craig was breathing heavy. He concentrated hard to stop from cumming straight away. His dick pulsed and throbbed, the air felt so cold against his hot skin.

Suddenly, Craig dived down onto Katey as she screamed and struggled.

It did no good. Craig held her down as she sobbed and pleaded. Craig managed to rip her pyjamas off her as she struggled.

When he managed to get her completely naked, he held her down and towered over her, smiling devishly, "The more you struggle, the more I like it, baby."

Craig paused to let the meaning of his comment sink and let her decide what to do. She relinquished and relaxed somewhat, but tensed and flinched as she felt Craig rub against her.

She gasped in pain as Craig entered her and forcefully took what he wanted.

Mercifully, it didn't last long and she curled up into a ball, a crying sobbing mess as Craig rose up and pulled his pants back on.

He looked her in the eye. "Don't think of escaping, there's no one here to help you. Don't try and do anything funny or I'll kill you, understand?"

She nodded vigourously through her choking sobs.

"Good." He smiled contentedly. "Sleep tight." And he walked out casually, disappearing suddenly from her view.

She ran to her door, naked, slamming it closed and collapsed onto her bed bawling, pulling the blankets close around her.

Craig, conversely, smiled all the way down to the couch in the lounge and collapsed into the soft leather, falling asleep almost instantly. His grin faded slowly from his face as he lapsed into a deep satisfying sleep.

"_Hey! I feel good. I knew that I would, now. Hey! I feel good! I knew that I would. So good. So good. I got ah you! Hey!" – I Feel Good / James Brown_

**CHAPTER 10.2 - Housebound**

Craig woke up relaxed, the glow of the morning sun rise gently caressed him awake. He mumbled and scratched himself and stared at the ceiling.

He inhaled….

Exhaled…..

And smiled. He was feeling good today.

He had a castle now, and fitting for a king, he thought, he had, not a queen, but a "mistress". Mistress sounded much better. "Comfort Woman"? Nah, mistress sounded better.

Rolling off the couch, he scratched himself again as he shuffled to the kitchen stretching his arms and back and he reached the fridge. The light turned faithfully as he opened the door. Power was still on obviously.

He grabbed a carton of milk, it felt light in his hands…. And put it back. The fridge was actually looking a bit bare. Some crumpets caught his eye and he checked the cupboard. Spotting some honey, he set a couple of crumpets in the toaster, walking circles around the card table in the centre until they popped up.

Today was going to be a good day. The crumpets were perfectly done without having to fiddle with the toaster timer.

He squeezed honey in little circles onto his crumpets, watching the sticky honey ooze into the crumpet's air holes. Not bothering to put anything back, Craig immediately began devouring his crumpets as he meandered back to the lounge.

Cautiously, he unlocked and opened the front door, scanning the horizon as he stuffed the remainder of his crumpet into his mouth, licking his lips to catch the warm honey on his stubbled chin. No zombies, just a golden morning in the country side. He felt like he should be standing in a dressing gown in fuzzy slippers and being whacked in the face by a newspaper from the paperboy. Spilling morning coffee down himself…

"This shit's sure better than Frankston." Hands on hips, he took in the view.

Relaxed.

"Hey! Da na na na na na na, I knew that I would now. Ma na na na na noo" He was dancingly daggily. "So good! So good! Coz I fucked you! Da Da Da Da WOW!"

He hobbled back inside, still dancing as he closed the door behind him.

He glanced at the staircase, his gaze following the stairs up, "Hmm let's see if she's up for a morning quickie."

His socks against the carpet of the stairs silenced any noise and he casually ascended to the top, Katey's closed bedroom door in front of him. Slowly, he opened the door and peeked inside.

The room appeared empty.

Concerned, Craig stepped into the room, hoping she was merely hiding and hadn't decided to run. Her window was closed, he noticed. He relaxed somewhat.

"Katey?"

He approached her closed wardrobe, grabbing the handles and opened them forcefully… nothing but clothes and drawers. She was not in there.

Yet he could feel her… he sensed her in the room.

"Kaaaaatey…."

He turned and looked to the bed, the blanket was flat, she wasn't under there. The bed was an ensemble mattress that touched the floor, so she couldn't hide under it…. She was probably hiding next on the other side of the bed where Craig couldn't see, near her desk.

He exaggerated his speech as though he was playing hide and seek with a toddler, "Hmmm." Lots of ham as he over-acted, scratching his head as though in deep thought. "Where could Katey be?"

Casually, he walked to the edge of the bed, around it and sure enough, he saw Katey, sitting on the floor tucked against her bed, keens pulled up into her chest and shivering slightly as she looked back up at him.

Craig, put his hands on his hips, still ham acting, "There you are! I found you!"

Katey tried to bundle herself closer as she sat on the floor. Craig's demeanor obviously making her very uncomfortable.

He decided to act more…. reassuringly. "You were right not to try and run last night you know. I had to take care of two more zombies during the night." he lied. "If you had run, they'd have torn you to pieces, and you'd be one of them."

Katey just stared back at him. Unmoving.

"Katey, I'll lay it down for you. Last night…. you didn't exactly perform very well… But since it was your first time, I'll forgive that. But I expect better from you."

Katey just sat there. Frozen and unmoving.

"Tell you what. I won't do you today. I'll let you off the hook. You must be a little, y'know, sore on your first time." Craig clasped his hands together. "So you stay here. I'll go get you some breakkie and I'll tidy up the house today. OK?"

Katey still just sat there.

"OK?"

Nothing.

Giving up, Craig sighed. "Alrighty then." And walked out of the room and back downstairs. He heard her bedroom door slam shut as he reached the bottom of the stairs. He smiled.

He fixed up another couple of toasted crumpets with honey on and poured the remaining milk into a glass and took it back up to her room. He clumsily opened the door with his hands full and he stepped inside. Katey was right where he left her.

"Here ya go. Eat up." And he set her breakfast down on her desk next to her.

She still just sat there, frozen, staring straight ahead. Her eyes vacant.

The silence made Craig feel uncomfortable, "Right…. uh… OK." And he left again. He descended the stairs and again heard the door slam shut. Perturbed, he muttered, "Pfft, fine." And walked back to the lounge to get his boots.

First order of the day, he decided, was to bury the bodies of Greg, Glenda, Ben and Rose that he killed the night before. He grabbed his shovel, the price sticker from the supermarket in Frankston still looped around the handle, and set to work digging a large grave in the back yard. He didn't much like the idea of having to actually work today, but the sweat seemed to clean him out as he dug. The labour made him feel strong as he shoveled into the back lawn and down into the sandy soil.

Satisfied the hole was big enough, he called a break for himself and walked back inside through the unlocked front door. As the door closed behind him, he realized how dangerous that was. What if Katey locked the door behind him and got a hold of the rifle?

SHIT!

He needed to organize something better to contain her. He was a king with a mistress, not a babysitter with a problem child to look after. Walking back into the kitchen, he saw the door to the garage.

"Hm."

Walking inside, he saw his Audi ("Yeah, that's right. Mine." He thought to himself proudly) and Greg's Volkswagon Toureg ("Now mine too.") and looked around, sizing the dark room up.

The garage was a simple, unpainted brick room, with nothing inside besides the cars and a couple of bikes leaning against the wall. The garage door was an automatic one, but after opening it and then closing it, he saw a keyhole on the outside, meaning it could be locked from outside, thus being un-openable from inside.

Further, on checking the kitchen door to the garage, he found it had a deadbolt in it. Not exactly a heavy duty one, but with a chair or something heavy against the door, it would do.

Back in the kitchen he found the keys for the VW and backed out both of the cars into the front yard, facing them to the road. Locking the garage door, he went upstairs to fetch Katey and introduce her to her "new home".

He opened the door, and feeling frustrated, she hadn't touched her breakfast, nor had she even moved from when he left her.

"Up."

She didn't move.

"HEY!" he shouted and she looked up at him. Softly he repeated, "Get up."

Shaking her head as though she had been asleep, she slowly rose up. She simply stood there.

"You're not staying in your room anymore. You're gonna stay in the garage from now on." She still looked only straight ahead, frozen. "Hey!"

She turned to him. "Go to the toilet. I'm sure you're busting. I'll wait for you."

Slowly she stepped, careful single steps at a time, and walked to the bathroom, closing the door behind her. Craig waited in her bedroom doorway, wary that she might not come out.

He could hear movement in there, so he waited patiently and she obediently reappeared out of the bathroom, staring at the floor.

"Go downstairs."

Slowly, she complied and stepped timidly forward and then down the staircase. Craig followed her three steps behind as she reached the bottom, "Into the garage."

Slowly she changed direction, heading for the kitchen.

She hesitated as she stood in front of the garage doorway, Craig standing behind her.

"Inside."

She didn't move.

"Now."

She didn't move, just staring blankly ahead.

Fed up, Craig shoved roughly into her back and she stumbled into the garage. Hands clutched in front of her, she timidly turned and faced Craig. "Please, I don't wanna stay here."

"You're staying here until I know I can trust you not to do something stupid. You behave and I'll treat you better. You gotta earn my trust."

Katey simply nodded, dumbly. "OK."

Before she had a chance to say anything else, Craig closed the door and bolted the lock. Through the door he said, "I'll bring your breakfast back down again. You better eat it."

Not waiting for a response, he fetched her crumpets, now cold, and milk, grumbling. He opened the door, and she stood there, one metre from the door patiently.

Craig gave her the plate and glass and she took it. She looked down at them.

"Eat it." And Craig turned for the door.

"Craig." She said softly.

"Yes?" he turned back and faced her.

"Can… can I please have a tissue?" she said meekly, looking down at the floor.

Craig smiled, "Tell you what. I'll get you a whole box. How does that sound?"

"Thank you." She said, barely above a whisper.

Craig closed the door and found a box in the master bedroom ensuite. He ignored the grisly bodies in the bed and the crusted blood on the pillows and went back for Katey.

Opening the door, he saw Katey had put her breakfast on the ground and was standing right where he left her.

"Here you go," as he handed the box to her.

"Thank you." A little louder than before.

"Right." and Craig headed back out again.

He walked back towards the lounge, but paused and turned back, looking at the garage door. Sighing, he turned back again to the lounge, "Progress, I s'pose."

Craig began the grisly task of carrying each of the bodies out of their beds and dumping them into the pit he had dug. He tried his best not to let their broken and bloodied heads spill or smear blood throughout the house as he carried. The children were a little difficult in this regard given the stairs, but he managed. He opened all the upstairs windows he found to air out the smell.

Surprised by the grave he had dug, there was room left over. He grabbed the zombie body from the shed and put her inside too. "They looked quite snug in there." he thought. He piled the dirt back on top, satisfied with the small mound as he patted it flat with the shovel.

Proud of himself (he had never dug a grave before) he sat down for lunch. Using up the remaining bread in the cupboard, he made himself a ham and cheese sandwich. As he put everything back in the fridge, he heard a knock from the garage. Unlocking the bolt and opening the door, he saw Katey had eaten her breakfast and stood in front of him.

"I ate my breakfast."

"Good."

"It's cold in here. May I please have some new clothes?" Craig could hear a growing measure of confidence in her voice, if only slight.

"Yeah, OK. It's lunch time too y'know. I'll make you some noodles."

"Thank you." Katey bent down, collected her plate and glass and handed them to Craig.

"Back in a bit." And Craig closed the door behind him, making sure to bolt it. He smirked as he poured water into the electric kettle for some noodles. "Yep…. Progress."

As the kettle started heating up, he went upstairs and opened her wardrobe. Sifting through her drawers and cloth racks, he found a pair of tracksuit pants, T-Shirt (with the slogan, "Eastern Co. '96" – whatever that meant), the jacket she wore yesterday and a bra and pair of panties. Rifling through her underwear drawer reminded him of being dared back in primary school to run into the girl's toilets. It felt like he was somewhere he wasn't supposed to be. He checked the tag of her bra for her size. 10C.

It occurred to him then that he didn't actually notice last night. He felt stupid. Whatever.

Back downstairs and the kettle had boiled. He handed the clothes to Katey, who politely said 'Thank you" again and went to prepare her noodles – chicken flavour.

Once again, she simply took the noodles and said thank you politely and Craig shut the door.

Eating his sandwich he prepared, he sat down on the couch, looking to get an update on the news.

All of the channels were blank.

Annoyed, Craig threw the remote across the room…. Then stopped.

He remembered the frenzy on the TV yesterday as world leaders threatened each other after the topic of a nuclear response came up.

They must have done it. During the night, someone, or everyone, must have launched their nukes and taken each other out. Craig stared dumbfounded at the static on the TV at the thought of hundreds of nuclear warheads criss-crossing the planet and engulfing entire continents in nuclear fire.

The chilling prospect sent a shiver down his spine. Mulling over the thought as he swallowed down another bite… "Well someone's gonna have to repopulate the Earth, then, huh?"

The rest of the day seemed to linger along as Craig explored the house, looking for anything that was either useful or amusing.

Searching the parent's bedroom, he hoped he could find something funny or kinky like a pair of fluffy handcuffs or a whip of something….

Nothing. Just clothes and bits and pieces. Not even any Viagra anywhere.

Boring.

Upstairs, Ben's room was filled with various figurines and toys, many of which were probably left over from when he was younger. Books and comics and a cricket set. Craig took the cricket bat to use for a weapon, setting it down against the front door on standby.

Craig didn't even bother with Rose's room.

Katey's room was more fruitful. The first port of call was to try the computer on her desk. Playing around with it, he didn't find any worthwhile games to play and the internet wouldn't work.

Searching through her personal drive, he found what looked like a series of diary entries, stretching back what looked like 1 and a half years.

He selected a random file, 1 year ago roughly, and sped read through. Complaining about homework and the prospect of leaving friends behind to move to Inverloch. It was dated before they had moved and it appeared they moved from Richmond, an inner city suburb in Melbourne. Craig thought about it and concluded that the move to Inverloch had, invariably, saved her life. There would have been no way she would have survived so deep into the city.

He selected another file, dated two weeks ago.

Again he sped read it and it was about life at school. She was mostly rambling, not much of it made sense, but a passage caught his eye at the end.

"Mark looked at me today, finally he saw me! I wonder if he likes me. I bet not.

Oh well.

Off to bed then.

Goodnight Diary!!"

Craig leaned back in the chair and chuckled, "Sorry Mark. I beat you to her. Hehe."

He selected the latest file, which was dated the night Craig arrived. Craig sat up in his chair and read it slowly.. It was only a short entry.

"Dear Diary,

It's still so hard to believe what's happened. Everyone's dead. The reports on the TV say so. All my friends, grandma and grandpa, Pop and Nanna. I can't believe it.

I'm so scared. I'd like to think we'll be OK, but I had my doubts until last night. A man drove up and he's staying with us now. His name is Greg. He's a fairly big guy and Dad said he's killed zombies before, he knows how to take care of himself he says.

I hope so coz Dad couldn't hurt a fly. He boarded up the house, but if one of those things came in, Dad would be useless I bet. But not with this guy. I watched him kill a zombie tonight. He swung at it with a pipe and killed it. Broke it's neck and then bashed it on the head to make sure it was dead. Dad threw up.

Told you he's useless.

I feel much better now that Greg is here. He seems like a nice guy. He's kinda cute…. :P And he's older! He like 40 or something!

After what Mark tried to do, I'd trust someone like Craig over that shit Mark any day.

OK, it's late. Well it's not really, but I'm tired.

Bedtime.

Goodnight Diary!!!11!"

Craig leaned back in his chair again and chuckled to himself. "Cute, huh? Little girl thinks I'm cute… Craig, mate. You still got it!"

Craig closed the document and shut down the computer, heading back downstairs. He checked his watch, 3:32pm. He walked into the kitchen and heard another knock on the garage door.

Opening it up, he found Katey in her new clothes.

"Yes?"

"Craig, I need to use the bathroom."

Craig felt stupid he hadn't thought of this. "Ok, um. Wait here just a second. I'll be right back." He closed the door again and headed outside.

He remembered seeing an empty bucket in the shed and brought it back.

He reached for the bolt and realized he'd forgotten to lock it. Angry with himself he opened the door and handed the bucket to her. "Here."

Katey took the bucket, looking uncomfortable. "Um Craig. Can I have some paper, please?"

Craig sighed, "Oh alright fine. Wait here." He closed the door again, bolting it this time and grabbed the remainder of the roll from the master ensuite.

He opened the door again and handed it to her.

"Here."

"Thank you, Craig."

"You're welcome." And Craig stopped himself. He said it out of reflex and shook his head as he closed the door again. As he stood in the kitchen, he paused, "Your welcome? Pfft."

He walked out into the lounge, having forgotten to bolt the door again.

**CH****APTER 10.3 – Lost and found**

As the clock in the lounge room rang, it was 6pm. Craig wondered where the day went.

Laying on the couch flicking up through the channels, finding only 99 channels of static, he was thoroughly bored.

"Fuck this…" he got up and checked the kitchen cupboard. Uninterested, he looked in the freezer.

Frozen shepherd's pie, and a bag of frozen peas and corn. "Good enough."

He took out 2 pies and poured some of the peas and corn into a bowl. Putting the peas and corn in the microwave, he had a few minutes to kill while he waited. He decided to check outside again.

The sun had set, but there was still a glow over the horizon, bathing the pastures and wheat fields in a gorgeous dark gold. A largish group of clouds were in the distance to the left of the house ("izzat east or north or what? I dunno"). Looked like it was going to rain tonight or tomorrow.

Looking around to the right, following the road to Inverloch, he saw smoke. A faint smoke cloud down the road a long distance away. That either meant people were alive, or now used to be.

Tomorrow, he would go and check it out.

Eyeing the cloud concernedly, he stepped back inside, brushing his fingers against the cricket bat as he closed the front door.

Back in the kitchen, the peas and corn was done and he replaced it in the microwave with the pies. The microwave hummed back to life as he watched the two pies swivel around in circles on the tray inside.

Waiting, he thought about the smoke cloud he saw. He thought about what might have happened… He hoped that the town wasn't burning down or too overrun. He hoped he could maybe get some stuff, a Playstation thing, more food, some beer, yeah beer! and maybe some pornos or something.

Ping!

The microwave had finished and he took the pies out. The crust on the top was soggy and had puffed up because of the steam. Oh well, it was hot at least.

Setting them down, each one on a plate, he poured out the peas and corn, still steaming, more on his plate than Katey's.

He called out, "Katey! Dinner's ready!" and he stepped over to open the door. As it opened, he again saw her standing to attention, her shoulders slumped as before, her arms clutched in front of her.

"Shephard's pie. Cool?"

"Thank you."

"Hang on a sec'." He leaned around the corner and grabbed her plate. "Here you go."

"Thank you." She took it, and stared down at it.

"Cool?"

"Umm…. Where am I gonna sleep tonight?"

"Well… in here, where else?"

Looking disappointed and distressed she frowned, still looking at her plate in her hands. "May I please have a bed?" she said meekly, her voice trailing off.

Craig leaned against the door, looking particularly casual in response to her question, "Well, you did say please. I'll bring it down after dinner, but only if you eat up all your pie."

"OK."

He closed the door, filled a glass of water and took his dinner into the lounge, setting his plate on the coffee table.

The shepherd's pie was soggy, but the potato topping was fluffy and the "meat" inside was hot. He cut the pie in half, which ended up being a mashed mess after the meat spilled out and he mixed the peas and corn together with it. Shoveling it in, he ate it all before even touching his glass of water. He sat back and burped loudly.

Satisfied, he set to work setting up his own bed in the master bedroom, then brought down Ben's mattress and Katey's blankets and pillows into the kitchen.

He opened the garage door without knocking and found Katey sitting by the door, her legs clutched into her chest. She was startled at the intrusion and looked like an army cadet who had been caught by his Sergeant not standing to attention. She quickly got up to her feet and stood in front of him.

"I got you a bed, hang on, move outta the way and I'll bring it in." Craig brought in the mattress, sliding it along on its side and lay it down on the floor. "Where do you want it?"

Katey appeared stunned by the question, "Um… that's fine."

"Cool." He turned and brought in her blankets and pillows, dropping them onto the blanket in a pile. "There you go."

She simply stood there, "Thank you."

Craig stopped at the door and turned around. "Oi! I forgot to check if you ate your dinner! Where's your plate?"

Katey turned and looked down at her plate on the ground, picking it up, she had just about licked the plate clean, barely a trace of food on it. She smiled slightly as she handed it to him. She looked somewhat proud of it.

Craig cracked a small grin as he took it back, "Good girl." And turned and closed the door.

He washed up quickly and headed into the lounge again. Looking in the TV cabinet, he found some DVD's. None of them seemed to interest him. They were all rated G or PG and seemed like family films. Boring.

He headed outside again. The smoke cloud was still there in the distance, but it was hard to see in the fading glow as night started to creep in. He headed back inside again.

He wished he had grabbed some beer or scotch when he stocked up at Frankston. He might be surviving here with plenty of food and in a secure house, but he was bored shitless.

"What do these people DO all day?" he muttered, frustrated. He almost wished for the house to be rushed by zombies just so he could have something to do for the day.

He tried the TV again, flicking through all 99 channels, finding only static. Annoyed, he turned the TV off and sat there thinking of what he could do to pass the time. He went back upstairs and looked in Ben's room. In his cupboard, he found a couple of "Where's Wally?" books and a 1,000 piece puzzle.

He took them downstairs and opened the Where's Wally books. He took his time looking through the pictures, finding Wally and all of the items and things he was supposed to find. It took him a longer time than he thought it would and, before he knew it, it was 8pm when he closed the books and checked his watch.

Dessert time.

He remembered he had grabbed come chocolate bars from the supermarket in Frankston and he felt like downing one. Finding them in his bag in the kitchen, he took two and opened the garage door without knocking again.

Katey was lying it her bed, the blankets pulled around her. Her head snapped up as the door opened. She started to get up.

"No, no. It's OK. I got you something." He flicked the chocolate bar towards her and she flinched as it landed in her blankets. Finding it, she smiled as she recognised what it was.

Craig decided to act a little flamboyant, "You've behaved impeccably today. You deserve it."

Katey smiled slightly at the praise. "Thank you."

Craig dropped his tone, "I was outside today and I saw some smoke on the horizon towards Inverloch. I'm gonna go check it out tomorrow."

Katey looked back at him, not saying a word.

"I'm not sure what I'm gonna find, or whether the place is burning down or what. But I'll see."

"OK."

Craig began to close the door when Katey stammered, "Craig?"

Craig stopped and looked back at her, "Yeah?"

"Can… can I have some more water, please? I'm thirsty."

'Yeah, sure." He reached into one of his bags and pulled out a 3 litre bottle, full to the top. He walked back into the garage and stood by the edge of Katey's bed. He put it down by the corner. Craig was surprised, Katey didn't flinch as he came so close to her.

"Here you go."

"Thank you."

He turned and headed back for the door. "Sleep well." He said as he stepped through the door.

Craig had already unwrapped and eaten the chocolate bar by the time he sat down on the couch in the lounge. He took out the 1,000 puzzle set and laid it out on the dining room table. The puzzle was boring, but what else was he going to do? Whilst Katey was his mistress and he felt like raping her again, he did say this morning that he wouldn't today.

Craig was a bastard, but he was a man of his word, he decided. First thing in the morning then.

As the puzzle pieces struggled to fit together, Craig decided he was sick of it and would just go to bed. Taking off only his shoes, he got into the king size bed in the master bedroom. He had earlier changed the pillows which were crusted and blood stained from when he killed Greg and Glenda and the thought of laying in that same bed excited him a little. Lying down in the (very) comfortable bed, looking up at the ceiling, Craig thought about what he had done so far and what he would do.

So far he was a murderer, thief and rapist. A life sentence in jail were this still the civilized world.

Slowly, Craig drifted off to sleep, thinking about what he might find in Inverloch tomorrow… hopefully, another girl to capture… blonde, huge breasts….

He didn't know what the time was or what had done it, but Craig realized he was suddenly sitting up in bed in the middle of the night.

His heart started racing. Something had woken him up. Trying to figure out what it was, he reached for a weapon… and couldn't find any. Nervous, he crept out into the lounge in the pitch black and found the cricket bat by the front door.

Gripping it tightly he scanned the room…. It was too dark to see anything. All of the windows were boarded up and hardly let any light in.

Closing his eyes momentarily, he switched on the light switch by the front door and was still blinded and struggling to see as he slowly tried to open his eyes, squinting.

Gradually, his eyes adjusted as he stood hunched down and tensed, bat ready in his hands. He scanned the room and could see nothing out of place.

He headed into the kitchen, nothing. The dining room was empty, the master bedroom he awoke in was empty. He headed upstairs and crept into Ben's room. Maybe a zombie was outside. He leaned out the window and couldn't see one. Puzzled he headed for Katey's room.

As he reached the doorway he stopped…. Something wasn't right.

He headed back to Ben's window. A large chunk of ice seemed to have suddenly materialized in his stomach as he realized what was wrong.

The VW 4WD was missing. "FUCK!"

He ran downstairs, 3 stairs at a time and grabbed the handrail as he spun around the corner at the bottom and headed for the garage door in the kitchen. Stopping in his tracks, he saw the bolt was undone. He grabbed the door knob and shoved the door open.

The room was pitch black and he fumbled for the light switch by the door. As he hit the switch, his vision focused on the bed in the far corner. Craig ran to the mattress and threw the blanket off.

Empty.

"That fuckin' bitch." Craig ran back to the kitchen, grabbed the Audi car keys and the rifle case as he headed outside.

He jumped into the Audi, ignoring the cold night air. The car whispered to life as he started the ignition and he floored it down the drive way and towards the road. As he turned on the headlights, high beam, he stepped on the brakes, stopping the car at the end of the driveway.

Left or right?

"FUCK!"

It was only now that Craig noticed the time on the dashboard clock. 3:18am.

She must have woken him up when she started the VW and headed out of the driveway. That was maybe only 5 minutes ago.

Not a huge head start.

"OK. OK. Which way would she have gone?" He looked back and forth from left to right again. "Alright, do I guess or is there a way to tell?"

He stopped shaking his head as something ahead caught his attention. Tyre tracks in the dusty driveway.

Craig got out of the car and stepped along the tyre tracks in the harsh glare of the Audi's headlights. He couldn't tell if the tyre marks were the VW or the Audi as tracks turned both left and right onto the asphalt of the road from the driveway mouth. He jogged back to his Audi and examined the fresh tracks in the dust leading up to the Audi's tyres in the glow of his brake lights.

Memorising what his tracks looked like, he headed back to the tracks at the mouth of the driveway. Identical tracks not matching his Audi were swinging left and right onto the road (where the tracks disappeared on the asphalt). If his tracks were missing, that meant they had been driven over.

Craig had come from the left when he arrived two days before.

Katey had driven over his tracks. She had turned left, heading away from Inverloch.

Craig ran back to his car and stormed out onto the road. He pushed the car hard down the straight road, slowing only slightly as gentle bends approached. The engine pulled as the gearbox shifted gears close to the redline.

Gripping the wheel tightly, he crossed the centre road markings without hesitation as he cut corners and drove faster than he had ever done before in his life. Down a long straight of road he watched as the speed rose to 150kpmh, 170kpmh and he held it at 180kpmh.

Craig cursed and yelled as he drove, "That fucking bitch, that fucking bitch," over and over again. He was boiling with anger. "What did I do, huh? I was nice to her, I made her fucking noodles! I gave her a bed and treated her with respect and what the fuck does she do? That fucking bitch!"

After what seemed like forever, out of his window on the left, he could see a light. It was a set of red lights in the near distance, standing out easily in the black nothingness of the dark landscape.

Craig turned his lights down to a glow as he finished the bend he was driving down, slowing down slightly to compensate for his decreased vision. At the end of the corner, he could see the red glow was right in front of him. He was on another straight of road and the car the glow belonged to was dead ahead.

He cut his lights altogether and floored it towards the glow.

He stopped swearing and yelling. He was concentrating hard. He wanted to catch up with her, but he was driving blind with only the red glow as a point of reference for direction.

His speedometer edged closer to 200kpmh, slowly. Watching intently, he could see the red glow was more defined. He could see the red glow become two distinct brake lights on the back of a car. As he pulled closer again, he could see it was indeed the VW. He estimated he was only 20 metres behind and gaining fast.

He focused intently on the VW as he pulled up behind and edged out into the next lane to pull up alongside. Craig let the Audi slow down to match speeds and he coasted along right next to it. He could see inside through the passenger window, just…. The window line was a little high.

There she was…. He could see her hair, her face as she stared straight ahead.

Oblivious.

Calmly, Craig watched her as he switched his high beams back on.

He could see her jump at the sudden light and he made eye contact as she turned her head towards him.

He smiled at her.

A look of pure terror and surprise greeted him back as she panicked. Their eyes locked for only an instant as Katey yanked the steering wheel right, away from him and the VW swerved sharply off the road.

Craig slowed as he watched the VW buck and bounce off the road. The VW then snapped back left as Katey wrestled for control and Craig watched as it rolled suddenly. He stabbed the brakes, the G-forces thrusting him forward into his steering wheel, his bum on the edge of the seat.

He never took his eyes of the VW rolling until its headlights and brake lights cut out and all was darkness except for the road in front of him.

Finally, the Audi pulled up to a stop and he turned towards the right slightly to try and illuminate the darkness, trying to find the VW again. He saw a glint and could see the VW was on its left side, 20 or so metres ahead.

Clutching the bat from the passenger footwell, he opened his driver door, a warning chime combining with the purring engine to cut into the otherwise silent night.

Letting the bat swing lazily by his side, he casually walked out towards the wreckage. It had rolled into a dirt field and the ground felt soft under Craig's feet, through his socks. He did not pull on his boots when he left to chase her.

He walked up alongside the exposed undercarriage of the crumpled VW and around to the front of the car. He peered inside through the shattered windshield and the deflating airbags.

There she was. Suspended in her seat, the seatbelt holding her there as she lay limp, her hair cascading down across her face and the passenger seat next to her.

He walked right up to the exposed windshield and reached inside. The felt her neck looking for a pulse.

He found one. She was breathing.

Katey woke up slowly, dazed and sore, the world a blur as she tried to open her eyes. The room was swimming and she felt queasy.

Blinking, the world seemed to focus somewhat, but she was still thoroughly confused.

Aching and tired, she lapsed back into unconsciousness, consumed by the blackness.

Katey woke up slowly, dazed and sore, the world a blur as she tried to open her eyes. A brightness pierced down at her and she flinched. Her eyes felt like they were a few sizes too big for her skull.

Blinking and squinting, she turned slowly and could see much better…. She recognized this place.

That was her desk…. She was in her room.

"Mom?", she mumbled.

She tried to sit up, but something wasn't right. She couldn't move properly. Her arms and legs were stuck.

Blinking again, she tried to figure out what was going on as she tried to tug her body inward.

Another blink and everything seemed to come into focus all at once and she was then terrified. She was in her bad, but it was all wrong.

She could see her hands and feet were tied up and she was naked.

Panicking and shrieking, she struggled against the bonds.

She stopped struggling in a cold dread. In the doorway, she saw Craig standing there, arms folded in front of him. He was staring straight back at her.

"Oh God!" she whispered.

Craig spoke very coolly, not moving, "You tried to run from me. Do you remember?"

Katey's voice cracked and squeaked, "No, no, no I didn't!"

Craig simply answered back, not moving an inch, "You didn't, huh?"

"No, no, I swear Craig, please." She was sobbing and starting to hyperventilate.

"Katey."

She froze.

"2 days ago, you tried to run from me."

She simply lay there, frozen stiff by his ice cold reply.

"You tried to run from me. Do you know how that makes me feel?"

"Please…", she whimpered.

"No?"

"Please…"

"Well, then… " Katey started shaking in fear as he unfolded his arms and stepped towards her. "Let me show you."

Katey screamed….


	11. Fill 'er up

**Author's note: This is my first attempt at fiction in 8 years and I would very much appreciate all forms of feedback. Please leave a review, even if you hate it, or advise of improvements or plot points you would like to see. I intend for this to be a long term story (i.e. 20+ chapters).**

"Gimme me fuel, gimme fire, gimme that which I desire." – Fuel / Metallica

**CHAPTER 12 – Fill 'er up**

Craig woke up in the (his) king size bed feeling refreshed and satiated. He had been stewing over the past two days whilst Katey lay unconscious in her bed and was glad to be there when she awoke.

Three days had passed since he had raped her first and he had worked up quite an appetite in that time. When Katey had woken up, he had been particularly "rough" with her.

Later that night, he gave her another "work out" (as he liked to call it) and again during the night after he had a particularly dirty dream.

But now it was mid morning, he'd had a restful sleep and was feeling.. what's the word?... satiated.

Happy again.

He casually rose, went to the toilet and strolled into the kitchen. In front of him, he saw the garage door.

Bolted.

He would never let that happen again, that's for damn sure. Under his system, Katey had to earn his trust. It had started well and good, with her behaving herself and then being rewarded with a comfy bed, regular food and a chocolate bar.

Craig unbolted the door and peered inside, switching on the light.

In the far corner, he could see Katey flinch. She was sitting in a foetal position, her exposed face and neck welted and purple from the bruising, her brown hair tangled and dirty. She was in some of her clothes, tracksuit pants and a fleecy jacket, nothing else underneath, Craig wouldn't allow it. "Easy access" was his reasoning.

The garage was empty, her bed and toilet bucket confiscated. She sat shivering on the cold concrete floor. As Craig opened the door, she started wimpering.

Craig simply nodded at her, "Good morning!" smiling coolly and shut the door again.

He bolted it.

He started whistling casually as he opened a tin of flavoured baked beans and warmed it in the microwave.

While he waited for it to finish heating up, he grabbed a large 3 litre bottle of water, opened another two cans of baked beans and opened the garage door again.

Katey still sat huddled in the far corner, shivering. Craig set the food and water down in the ground, right by the door.

"Come and get it." He said coldly.

Katey shuddered and clutched her arms, obviously reluctant.

"NOW!"

She lurched at the sound of his angry voice and crawled towards him. He stood there, in the doorway, hands on his hips, tapping his foot.

She reached the corner, stretching her arms out and carefully scooping up her food and water, her body shivering with fear and tears dripping on the floor. She hugged the food and water bottle into her chest.

"Katey?"

She didn't move.

"Katey, look at me." He said sternly.

She slowly raised her head, hiding her eyes behind her tattered hair.

"I'm going out today. You behave yourself, OK?" He reached to ruffle her hair, but she recoiled suddenly, tumbling back onto her side and crawled in a panic back to her corner away from him. Craig simply watched. "I'm going to check on Inverloch today. When I get back, I want to find you exactly where you are now, understand?"

Katey's hair bobbed and shook as she nodded hurriedly.

"If you do behave, I'll bring your bed and bucket back down again."

Katey nodded again.

"BUT!" His shout filled the room and Katey pulled herself deeper into the corner, the edges of the bricks in the wall poking into her skin. "If I get the slightest hint you've come anywhere near this door I'll tie you to a chair and stick pins in you. Understand?"

Katey nodded quickly, wimpering.

"Good." He slammed the door closed immediately and bolted the door again.

Casually, he sat down and ate his baked beans, nice and hot from the microwave.

The cool late morning air blew gently through his jacket, massaging his skin as he stood outside in the front yard. He felt strong today and his blood felt warm.

The smoke clouds he had seen billowing up into the sky down towards Inverloch were greatly reduced and nearly dissipated today. He felt the rough rubber grip in his hands as he twirled the cricket bat on the ground by his side.

His plan wasn't very thorough. Drive to Inverloch, look around then see what happens.

His vision turned slightly to the right and he could see a figure coming down the road, walking. He couldn't make out any details. He stopped twirling the bat and slung it over his shoulder. Walking down the driveway, out onto the road, the figure in the distance seemed to see him and started running towards him.

Must be a zombie.

Craig jogged towards the figure, now more visible. It looked like a young man in dark dirty clothes. Its skin was black and hair mangled… burnt? Closer, he could see it was indeed burnt, it's clothes stained black and charred. Its hair was longer on one side of its head that the other, the hair burned back.

Craig could see the whites of its eyes, wide open and staring right for him as it ran. Craig swung the bat round and round in his hand as he jogged towards him, only 10 metres away now.

As the zombie came close, it outstretched it arms and growled. Craig skipped his feet and swung the back as hard as he could right into the zombie's chest, somersaulting it in the air as it crashed heavily into the asphalt behind him.

Craig turned and saw the zombie was already scrambling to its feet. Craig charged and swung his bat hard into its right shoulder, throwing it backwards onto its side as Craig jogged by.

Craig jogged like a boxer as he circled around the zombie. It was getting back up again, although slower this time. It leaned on one arm to rise, but the arm gave way and it fell face first into the road. Craig had obviously broken the shoulder for that arm then. The zombie tried to rise again, using the other arm as it growled again for Craig.

As it rose to its feet, Craig quickly side stepped around and stepped into a hard swing for the zombie's other shoulder, hitting it squarely. SNAP! The zombie stepped backwards, absorbing the impact and staying on its feet as the arm fell limp by its side like the other one.

The zombie stepped clumsily for Craig, its arms hanging like a rag doll's, swaying as it stepped.

Craig was laughing as he planted his feet and swung the bat again, stepping forward to throw his weight into the swing.

CRACK! and the zombie's left knee snapped sideways and buckled out from under it, sending it crashing down to the ground again. The leg was bent horribly to the side, the knee joint shattered.

Craig laughed to himself again as he walked casually around the broken zombie, its arms and one leg useless. "You ain't so tough boyah! Yoo iz a fookin panzay boyah!" Craig stepped forward and laid his foot heavily on the zombie's chest. It looked back up at him, its face contorted in an angry snarl as it tried, unsuccessfully, to lean forward and bite at Craig's ankle.

"Lets see what you can take…" Craig reversed his grip on the bat handle, letting it hang down from his hand, the head of the bat dangling over the zombie's head. He opened his hand and watched as the bat fell down on the zombie's face (thump) and tumbled down a few centimeters away. Craig picked it up, the zombie desperately trying to bite his hand, but was stuck fast under Craig's boot as he held it out over the zombie's face again.

Again he let the bat drop, head first down on the zombie's face, bouncing off its left cheek and tumbling down on the ground next to it.

The zombie's face was a contorted and angry as before. It showed no inkling that it hurt.

Craig picked up the bat again, but this time gripped it hard and swung down across his body and connected with the side of the zombie's face, right in the ear. The zombie's head jerked to the side with the impact, but didn't even appear to blink in reaction.

Craig brought the bat up and swung down again, harder this time as the bat's corner connected with its ear again, snapping the zombie's head over.

The hard hit appeared to stun the zombie. It was no longer snapping for him, but was very groggy and slow to move around.

Craig looked down and made eye contact with it. Its rolling head stopped as it stared back up at him, fixed by Craig's stare. Its face was blank.

Craig pointed his finger to his head and started singing, "It's all in your head. It's all in your head. It's all in your head. It's all in your head."

The zombie just blinked.

Craig gripped the bat again, his knuckles turning white, 'Don't worry, mate. I'll fix it." And he swung down hard again, aiming for the ear again.

CRACK! The corner of the bat smacked into the zombie's ear again, rolling its head over and killing it.

Craig lifted his boot off the dead zombie's chest and looked back down the road.

Empty.

All he could see where traces of smoke down the horizon, down the empty road.

Swinging the bat around in his hands again, he casually walked back down the driveway to the house. He walked up to the Audi, peering inside, he saw the rifle case and pipe he had packed this morning. He walked around the bonnet to open the driver's door.

He heard something…. something…. behind him.

Cautiously, he turned and gripped the handle tightly, holding it out over his shoulder, ready for a baseball bat style swing.

There! He heard something again, coming round from the side of the house. Sidestepping cautiously, the sound of his heartbeat pumping in his ears, he stepped around and could see down the side of the house.

Nothing.

He could still hear something. Something shuffling.

The sound stopped.

Craig tensed, maybe whatever it was heard him.

Suddenly, he saw something dart from around the back of the house, rushing towards him.

"Shitjesusfuck!"

Purely by reflex, Craig swung down at it and smacked whatever it was hard with the end of the bat. It spun around and fell against the wall.

"Shit!" gasping for air, Craig steadied himself to see what it was.

A dog! A fucking dog!

"Jesus!" He bent down to get a closer look at it. It was a German Shepherd or something, he wasn't sure. He couldn't tell whether it was alive or a zombie dog of some sort. Either way it was dead now. The whack Craig gave it seemed to have done the trick.

Craig went to the backyard and saw what it had been doing. It had been digging for the grave, but thankfully hadn't done much. Craig patted the earth down with his boot and walked around the house to check for any others. Nothing.

He walked back for the Audi again, feeling relieved to be wrapped in the leather seat. His throat suddenly felt very dry as he reached for his water bottle. Taking a few gulps, he set it back down in the drink holder and exhaled loudly as the seemingly ice cold water burned down his throat.

"Goddamn…" He started the car and stared at the dog's carcass in the dirt. "Fucking dogs now… Peh." He eased the car around and drove slowly down the driveway and out onto the road, towards Inverloch.

The 20 minutes it took to reach the outermost neighbourhoods of Inverloch was uneventful. He scanned the houses he passed by and couldn't see anything with boarded up windows like Greg and Glenda's (former) house. Also, he saw no zombies or bodies lying in the road or in paddocks and front yards. No crashed cars or anything that looked untoward.

The places he passed just looked deserted. Just no one home.

He rounded a few corners through a hillside, lush with green grass and scrub by the roadside and the first line of houses and a "Welcome to Inverloch!" sign announced his arrival.

Again, the place just seemed deserted as Craig slowed down to look around carefully, looking for threats, zombies, people, anything. Anything untoward or strange. Nervously, he cruised through the streets, more and more houses lining the roadside and sidestreets cutting down away from him as he drove closer to the town centre.

On the left he could see a book store and petrol station. On the right, he could see a restaurant and more houses. Craig looked down to the dash… The petrol gauge was about one centimeter away from "E". He pulled into the petrol station, next to a pump and looked around warily.

Seeing nothing, he pulled the petrol tank latch, opened the car door and stepped out, leaving the engine running.

He twisted open the petrol tank lid and lifted the premium unleaded pump, inserting the nozzle into the funnel. Confused, the pump didn't work. The pump wouldn't turn on.

He could see the pump next door showing the price on the display, so the electricity was still working. The pump must need to be switched on from inside, he decided.

Adjusting his grip on the cricket bat, he stepped cautiously to the front door of the petrol station, scanning around him for threats, and stopped at the door. The sliding door had a motion sensor at the top of the doorway, but it wouldn't open.

Craig cupped his left hand on the glass and peered inside. He could see the front counter, shelving with chocolate, motor oil, milk in the fridge and magazines on the rack by the counter. By the door, on the inside, he could see a red button which was the manual door override. Sighing slightly, he peered around again and could see a door was open at the back of the store, near the pie oven…. A smear of blood was on the side…..

Craig stepped back and readied his bat…. Then lowered it. If he smashed the glass, an alarm would probably go off and give away his presence…. Potentially hundreds of zombies swarming down on him didn't seem very palatable.

Instead, Craig stepped up to the glass again and tapped on it. Relaxing, he saw nothing…. He tapped again, harder this time.

A blur suddenly surged through the store out from the back door and disappeared behind some shelving. Craig recoiled from the glass, readying his bat over his shoulder.

He waited. Tense.

Nothing.

Nerviously, Craig took one hand off his bat and reached forward to tap the glass again.

Tap, tap…

Again a blur darted out and ran through the store. Craig could only catch glimpses of it between the shelf aisles.

Then it disappeared again….

No movement.

Craig leaned in closer to the glass door and peered left…. Nothing.

He peered right…. nothing.

Craig suddenly jumped back as something crashed heavily against the glass with a dull thud. Craig nearly fell back on his bum as he saw a bloodied zombie pounding on the glass. The zombie was in an orange boiler suit of some sort and had long thin hair… It's face and front of its suit was stained dark with heavy blood.

Craig eyed the zombie warily as he got to his feet. The zombie was pounding and jumping furiously. It bumped into a drinks stand, sending plastic bottles tumbling onto the floor.

Craig had an idea.

Craig approached the door carefully, hands out by his side for balance. The zombie was thrashing and growling behind the glass. Craig could hear it.

Craig darted right and the zombie pushed against the glass towards him. Craig darted back to the left and the zombie again rushed after him, skimming across the glass door.

And crashed into the wall with the red button on it.

The door whizzed to life and opened, catching slightly on the zombie's foot as it tried to get up. Taking to chances, Craig raised the bat over his shoulder and charged inside.

The zombie was on its hands and knees and reached for Craig's legs, but Craig stepped back and brought the bat down in a swing. Caught slightly off balance, the bat hit the zombie clumsily and flew out of his hands, tumbling over the zombie and behind it on the floor.

Craig managed to scramble and stay on his feet as the zombie urged forward to try and catch him, but missed.

Craig back away, eyeing the zombie and trying desperately to find a new weapon. The zombie jumped to its feet and charged forward right for him, arms outstretched. Acting more out of reflex than conscious thought, Craig reached out and grabbed one of its arms and pulled left as it charged, sending it tumbling over into a chocolate bar stand.

Wasting no time, Craig ran back to the front door and grabbed the bat still lying on the floor. He turned just in time to see the zombie charging for him again and swung, aiming for the head. The rushed swing again didn't connect properly, but did enough to push the zombie over to the side as it collided into a steel shelf and fell dumbly backwards onto the floor.

Seizing the opportunity, Craig stepped forward, raised the bat over his head and brought it down hard on the zombie's head in a clean hit, smashing it hard. The zombie stopped thrashing and fell down limp.

Craig froze as he watched the zombie tensely, ready if it wasn't dead. He stood there, his body seemed to bounce up and down as he breathed heavily, the bat seemingly light as a feather in his hands.

His breathing slowing slightly, Craig lowered the bat to his side and stepped over the dead zombie. It was only then that he heard a beeping noise coming from the counter. Carefully, he stepped around the shelves and behind the counter. A monochrome computer screen was set on a shelf, with numbers and prices for the fuel pumps sitting ready. He could see a green cube with a number "5" on the screen, flashing. Craig reached out and pressed the screen where the flashing five was and it disappeared. The numbers next to the number 5 pump then cleared and set to "-- --".

"Alright." Craig stepped triumphantly towards the front door and saw something in the corner of his eye. It was the open back door, and he could see lots of blood. Craig crept towards the doorway, bat ready to swing and he pushed it closed, happy to hear the door latch click as it locked into the wall.

Satisfied, Craig headed for the glass door, which was closed again, and pressed the red button again. The door trundled open again, but Craig stepped back to look for something to jam it open with. He saw a five litre petrol can on a shelf and he set it down on the floor. He watched as the door slid closed, jammed against the can and opened again.

Feeling proud for being so clever, Craig ran outside, keeping an eye out for movement and was happy to hear the pump running as he reached his car. He gripped the pump handle and felt it vibrate as petrol surged into the Audi's tank. When it was done, Craig let it sit in the petrol door and ran back inside. He found two 40 litre petrol tanks and filled them both before letting the pump sit idle on the ground.

Craig grabbed a backpack he had packed into the car previously and headed back into the store. He stepped over the dead zombie as he ambled up and down the aisles, picking up things as it fancied him, chocolates, potato chips, bottles of soft drink… then he passed by the magazine rack. He grabbed all of the porno magazines on the rack, grinning happily, especially for the magazines with a DVD attached.

He zipped the bag closed and headed back out to the Audi, the engine still running. He slung the backpack over into the backseat and started off again down the road.

Further down the road, Craig could see more shops lining the road, everything seemed deserted, yet nothing out of place. Confused and uncomfortable for the silence and inactivity, Craig turned a corner and stepped on the brakes.

He saw a barricade blocking the road, large slabs and logs of wood, cars and wreckage, burnt out and charred. Bodies littered the street and lay strewn over the barricade. The burnt flesh and charred wood were still smoldering. Craig froze as he saw someone walk out of a doorway and into the street.

The man turned to Craig, one hand gloved and open waving to him, the other wrapped around a machine gun by his side.


	12. New friends

**Author's note: This is my first attempt at fiction in 8 years and I would very much appreciate all forms of feedback. Please leave a review, even if you hate it, or advise of improvements or plot points you would like to see. I intend for this to be a long term story (i.e. 20+ chapters).**

**Warning: sex/rape scene**

"I need a friend, oh I need a friend to make me happy." – Wonderful life / Black

**CHAPTER 13 – New friends**

Craig sat stunned in his Audi as he stared at the man waving at him in the street. He was wearing army camouflage pants, a white T-shirt with a bullet proof vest of some sort over the top and a balaclava.

He was wearing black gloves and was waving to Craig. He also held a large machine gun of some sort in his other hand, hanging by his side pointing down to the ground.

The man motioned with his open hand for Craig to stay as he walked towards him. Craig found the electric window buttons on the centre console and pressed the button for his window, holding it down as his window smoothly slid down and open. The air stank of burnt and charred meat.

Death and decay.

Craig waved back as the man came closer to the car and stepped around towards the side of the bonnet. He waved back as he approached Craig's open door window and peered inside.

"Hello there, mate." He greeted Craig cordially.

"Hi, mate. Howza goin'?" Craig was surprised at the relaxed tone of the man, eyeing his machine warily.

"I tell ya, mate. Iz good to see a new face 'round 'ere." He reached his spare hand in through the window towards Craig. "I'm Mark."

Craig gripped Mark's gloved hand tightly, giving it a small but definite pump as he replied, "Craig. What's goin' on 'ere?"

Mark pulled his hand back through the window and back to his side, turning his gaze to the barricade, Craig followed it and also looked. "Zombies broke out 'ere a few days ago and started rampagin' through town. Killed most people, but a few of us managed to survive and bunker down. My brother owns a camping store down the road and me and a couple a mates managed to barricade inside with a few guns we had stashed."

Craig, motioned towards the machine gun at Mark's side. It looked like an old M16 or something like it. "Yeah, I saw, mate. Nice big one." He smiled.

Craig could see from the changed fold of Mark's balaclava that he was returning Craig's smile with a proud grin of his own. "Your right there, mate. You should see what this baby did to some a those fuckers." He pointed down towards the barricade.

"Yeah, what happened?"

"Well, when we hid, those zombie things seemed tah go tah ground and hid away. During the night, we built a barricade, creating a closed in place behind there. My bro Brett drove around town in his 4x4, getting zombies to run behind him and he led them in there. When they got in, we blocked the exit with a bus and torched 'em all in there. Fuckin' BBQ."

"Fuck!"

"Yeah, mate. Wanna see?"

Craig immediately killed the engine and opened the door. Mark stepped back to allow room for the door to open and stepped towards the barricade, circling around as he did so, scanning warily. Craig stepped in next to him.

"Where are you from, mate?" Mark enquired, sounding more serious.

"I'm from the city. I escaped and drove out here, stole that Audi from some dumb bitch and found a house outside of town to shack up."

"Nice work, mate."

"Thanks."

Mark turned right towards a secure looking door at the back of a store and opened it. The door had handprints of blood smeared across it and looked fairly heavy. As Craig stepped in behind Mark, he was struck with the sight of another man in similar dress as Mark standing in what looked like a store room, next to empty.

The man rose quickly, and looked at Mark.

Mark stood up straight and announced proudly, "Mate, found a survivor! Check it out. His name's Craig."

The man seemed to relax, but stared intently at Craig, sizing him up. "Howza going Craig?"

"I'm good."

"I'm Cane." He folded his arms across his chest, showing off ample tricep and bicep muscles in his arms. Craig quickly looked back and forth between Mark and Cane and it was obvious that Cane was both taller and bigger than Mark. He was thicker set, an ideal Rugby player, Craig thought.

Mark motioned forward to relax the atmosphere somewhat. "Was gonna show 'im the pile outside."

"Oh yeah?" Cane bounced in his tip toes and back down again, the fold of his balaclava hiding a proud smile. "Quick tip, mate. It's a helluva sight, bit it fuckin' stinks."

Mark laughed and Craig forced a laughed in response.

Mark motioned for Craig to follow, "Come on then, it's up here." as he proceeded up some stairs.

Craig stepped to follow as Cane nodded towards him. "Catchya."

Craig nodded back.

As they ascended up some cold and grey concrete stairs, Craig could already smell something was rank. It really did stink. Mark reached the top, two flights up and opened a wooden door, painted blue. The sunshine pierced in through the dim light in the stairwell and Craig had to squint as he stepped through the door. After blinking a couple of times, Craig could see Mark standing at the edge of the roof, looking back at him.

He nodded his head downward, towards the street below. Slowly Craig stepped towards the edge next to Mark and froze and covered his nose at the sight below him.

It was a charred heap of carcasses in the street, hundreds of bodies piled up upon each other in a chaotic mess. Stunned, Craig could see individual faces and figures in the mess amongst the charred skeletons and half burnt bodies.

"Jesus, fuck!" Craig stepped back in a mix of revulsion and amazement, steadying his suddenly weak legs.

"Yeah, it's a fuckin' sight iznit?"

"Fuck…." Craig whispered, his eyes rushing, circling through the open mass grave below him.

He could see the barricade he stopped in front of before, as well as the Audi sitting alone in the street behind. He turned his gaze back to the pile, running his eyes along the walls and barricades that had boxed the zombies in. He saw large cars parked across a couple of alleyways and a bus parked opposite the large barricade. The bus must have been driven across the street to box them in once they were led inside.

He could see hands and limbs sticking out from the mess, blackened hands and fingers contrasting against painted shop fronts and walls as zombies must have died trying to climb out of the fire. He could see skulls and mangled faces staring up at the sky or seemingly asleep in the smouldering pit.

Mark spoke, an air of sadness in his voice, "It was a big fire. We soaked the ground with petrol and threw in a flare when they were trapped in. Place fuckin' exploded. Never seen anything like it." He pointed down into the pit. "See that chick there?"

Craig couldn't see anyone or anything distinguishable amongst the mass of bodies. "Yeah?"

"My ex girlfriend."

Craig just stared in the general direction of where Mark had pointed.

Mark pointed over to the other side of the pit, Craig followed his hand. "And over there and there's my Mum and Dad…. I think."

Craig replied, as heartfelt as he could sound, "Fuck. I'm sorry, mate."

Mark' posture slumped visibly as he turned away and walked back to the stairs door. 'Yeah, well, better dead than one of those things, I s'pose." The shadows consumed him as he walked through the doorway and disappeared down.

Craig turned back to the street and looked amongst the pit some more. He could make out men, women, children, young and old, fat and skinny, clothed and naked, flesh and bone and charred remains.

Craig shook his head at the scale of the death below him, feeling jealous that he didn't get to see it happen. "Hm… fuck." He turned and headed for the stairs, taking each step slowly, listening to his steps echo through the concrete and steel stair well until he saw Cane and Mark standing silently together by the door leading outside at the bottom.

Mark was carrying his machine gun across his body in his hands, slung ready to fire as he spoke to Craig. "Hey Craig. Wanna come with us to our place and meet the rest of the crew?"

"Yeah, sure."

"What did ya think of the pile?" Cane asked.

Craig straightened his posture as he replied, "It's fuckin's big! I saw the smoke clouds from my place outta town. Wish I was here to see it."

Cane laughed, but stopped as Mark replied coldly, "No you don't."

Craig stared back at Cane, his eyes boring into Craig through his balaclava. Craig didn't look away, returning Cane's stare.

Mark broke the tension, "Hey come on. Let's go home. We'll introduce you tah Ben and Gordon."

"OK." Craig continued to stare at Cane as he turned for the door and walked outside. Craig followed Mark outside, back into the sunlight as Cane and Mark scanned the streets and alleys as they walked.

"This way." Mark motioned Craig to follow.

They didn't speak as the turned a corner and the street opened up to show a large camping store at the end. The entire shop front was protected by steel bars, darkening the yellow sign that read "Aussie Disposals." Craig could see a figure on the roof staring back at him, again dressed like Mark and Cane, a balaclava hiding his face.

Ahead, Mark and Cane waved to the figure and stood in front of the shop front, looking up at the figure. Craig stopped just behind Mark, staring up at the man.

The man folded his arms and looked down at Craig with a relaxed posture. "So, we have a visitor, do we? Good to see. I see you've met Mark and Cane already. I'm Gordon. I own this place."

Craig held his hand over his forehead, shading his eyes as he squinted up towards Gordon in the sunlight. "Craig. I'm from the city. Drove down the coast once I heard what was goin' on."

Gordon seemed to bow slightly as he replied, "Good man. Smart. But I still don't really know who you are. I'm sure you'll understand if I'm a little reluctant to welcome you with completely open arms."

"I understand. I'm actually not looking to stay here with you. Just came here to get some supplies and fuel."

"See that's the thing." Gordon pointed into the air as he spoke, "This is my town. I own this place. We can't have other people coming in and taking stuff willy-nilly now can we?"

Craig simply stared back up at Gordon, feeling a little vulnerable, remembering his rifle, bat and pipe were sitting back in the Audi. He felt foolish for being so unarmed.

Gordon paced back and forth along the roof's edge as he spoke. "But that's OK. You didn't know we were here, right? You didn't take much I suppose? No harm in a little sharing, but I would ask that you don't take anymore without giving….. remuneration…. in return."

Mark and Cane seemed to step away from Craig as he responded, "You mean you wanna trade? I have to buy stuff from you?"

Gordon stopped pacing and looked Craig right in the eye. "That's right."

Craig turned his gaze down towards Mark and Cane. Mark had his machine gun in his hands, pointed down towards Craig's feet. Cane had a handgun in his right hand, hanging down by his side.

Craig turned back up to Gordon, "OK."

Gordon bowed slightly upon Craig's reply as he spoke, "Good man. I'm glad we have reached an understanding."

Craig folded his arms as he responded, "Alright, well, I got what I came for. I wanted to see what was going on here and I took some fuel for my car. If you and I are done here, I'll head off."

Gordon stared at Craig. "Head off where?"

Craig's arms tensed across his chest, "Down the main road. There's a house I cleaned out. That's where I'm staying. I came here because I'm only on my own and my supplies were getting a little low."

"What did you take?"

"Filled up my car and a couple of tanks of fuel. That's all. I've got enough canned food I grabbed from the city. I didn't take any of your food."

Gordon didn't move as he responded, "I hope that's all you took. As you would understand, food and fuel are valued commodities at the moment. As I said, you are free to go with what you took this once, but next time we meet, if you want something, you're gonna have to give me something in return that I want."

"Right."

Gordon unfolded his arms and lifted them out by his sides, "Alright then. I'll see you 'round."

"Wait. What else have you got besides food and fuel? Besides stuff that a town usually has."

Gordon folded his arms again and leaned down towards Craig as thought he was addressing a child, "As you can see from my associates down with you, we have guns. They weren't legal back in the day, but that doesn't matter now anymore, does it?"

Craig hunched his shoulders slightly, trying to appear as though he was the child Gordon was talking to. "No, sir."

Gordon stood back up, seemingly placated. "Alright then." He turned and disappeared from Craig view. "See you 'round, Craig."

Craig looked down to Cane and Mark, who hadn't moved. Mark smiled slightly, "Yeah, he's a bit of a prick, but he's the man. He's the one who made sure we survived, so we owe him our lives." Cane nodded as Mark spoke. "I'm sure we'll see you again. I'll walk you to you car, aye?"

Craig let his arms fall by his side as Mark stepped towards him. Cane stood unmoving, watching. Craig turned and followed Mark back towards his car. Neither of the men spoke as Craig's Audi came into view.

As they reached the car, Mark spoke. "Hey, hope we see you again, mate. It's sure to be a boring place around here."

Craig reached his hand out and Mark took it in a handshake. "Don't worry, mate. I'll make sure to pop in again."

Mark stepped away, holding his machine gun in his hands as Craig opened his door, sat down inside and started the engine. Mark gave him a small salute with his fingers as Craig reversed around and drove away.

As he left the town and the houses petered out to farmland again, Craig gripped the wheel tightly and muttered, "That fucker. Thinks he can fuckin' tell me what to fuckin' do. Motherfucker." He continued to mutter to himself and stew the entire drive back home.

As Craig pulled up into the driveway back home again, he looked to the sky and saw clouds gathering on the horizon. Rain was coming it looked like. Surly, he walked inside and headed for the toilet. After dropping a particularly concrete turd, he headed for the kitchen and filled a glass of water.

Downing it in only 3 gulps, he burped loudly and set his backpack down on the table. He pulled out his porno magazines and laid them out…. Everything from Playboy to lesbians to barely legal teens and interracial, with 5 DVD's for his viewing pleasure. He had a quick flick through the magazines and felt quite…. itchy.

He turned for the garage door and unbolted it. Opening the door he leaned inside and saw Katey was sitting in the corner exactly where he had left her this morning. She was hugging herself and huddled deeper into the corner as Craig peered in.

"Good afternoon Katey. I see you have behaved yourself. Right where I left you, like a good girl." She continued to shiver in the corner.

Craig put his hands on his hips. "You know what? I'm gonna bring your bed and bucket back down, since you've been so good. And, for an added bonus, I'll let you have a shower and new clothes if you do something for me."

Katey stared back at Craig through her dirty hair as he stepped out of the room and came back with a magazine. He opened it up, flicking through some pages and held it out and open for her to see. "Come here and have a look."

Slowly, Katey leaned forward and started to get up. "That's it. I'm not going to hurt you." He said to her as gently as he could as she walked to him slowly, her arms clutched around her.

In the dim light, Katey couldn't see, but she kept her distance, stopping a few metres before Craig, not daring to come closer.

Craig motioned for her to approach, "Come on. I know you can't see it. Come here." Katey carefully stepped forward, reaching her feet out one at a time gently as though she was stepping on egg shells. Slowly and warily, she leaned forward and looked at the pages. She almost leaped back once she saw them.

Craig froze her in her place with a shout. "Hey!" Katey stood fixed to the ground as Craig pointed to the pictures, "I want you to do this, then this, then this, OK?" He pointed at two pictures of a naked woman going down on a male model, then one of her engaged in anal sex.

Katey shook her head as she started to sob and cry.

Craig lowered the magazine and leaned against the door. "Katey, if you don't do it, I'll leave you here with no food or water. No bed, no toilet, no shower and no clothes."

Katey shook her head, more definitely and took a few steps back.

Craig sighed and disappeared from sight, returning with a kitchen knife. Katey whimpered as he pointed it out towards her.

"Katey, I'm losing patience. Either way something is going up your arse. It's either this." Craig held the knife up for her to see "or this." as he grabbed his crotch with his other hand.

Katey shuddered at the thought of being anally raped with a kitchen knife then seemed to gather herself somewhat and closed her eyes, sending tears down her face. "OK." She whispered.

Craig lowered the knife, "Good girl. Come into the lounge then." Katey stepped carefully and silently up to Craig and squeezed past him, trying to stay as far away from him as possible as she passed. Craig followed behind her, watching her intently as she slowly stepped through the kitchen and around the corner to the lounge room.

Katey stopped in front of the couch as Craig walked to the DVD player and turned it on. Katey watched him, reserved and confused, her arms still clutched tightly around her. She couldn't see the DVD that Craig popped into the player, but she didn't feel comfortable at all, standing alone and vulnerable in the room with him.

Craig then turned the TV on and sat down on the couch, looking at Katey as the TV screen came to life, showing static. He fiddled with the buttons as he set it to DVD mode and saw the title screen for the DVD. Katey turned and watched the screen as a sleazy saxophone oozed out of the speakers and a picture of a near naked woman posing filled the screen. The title was clear to see – Jewel Island. Katey bit her lip as she watched the curser on the screen blink as Craig selected play.

Katey turned back to Craig as he spoke, "Here, sit." He sat slouched, legs open and he patted the empty space beside him.

Katey slowly sat down beside him and slid herself over across the cushion as far as she could up to the arm rest away from Craig. Craig looked at her and laughed.

Craig and Katey watched the movie start as a sequence of a large chested woman in an apartment choosing between clothes in a wardrobe appeared. She began changing and got down to her underwear, very small and tight, her breasts bulging beneath the tiny bra, as a knock on the door of her apartment got her attention. She daintily walked to the door and opened it to find a delivery boy. He looked shocked to see her and she started flirting with him. It didn't take long before he was rubbing against her and running his hands over her, removing her tiny underwear. He then sat down on her bed as she unbuckled his pants and started giving him a blowjob.

Craig turned to Katey, who was leaning against the arm rest, obviously uncomfortable. "OK Katey. You want to come around here?"

She slowly and reluctantly scooted across her cushion towards him. She stopped and looked at Craig.

"Come around here, kneel down in front of me." She again, slowly, complied and kneeled down in front of him as he opened his legs wider, revealing a very distinct bulge in his pants. "Touch it."

Katey slowly brought her hand up and laid it gently on his bulge.

"Give me a little squeeze, baby." Craig sighed and moaned slightly as she gently squeezed his dick. Everything felt so tight and restricted down there.

Craig was watching the woman on the TV lick and deepthroat the delivery boy. "Unzip me and get it out." He ordered her.

Awkwardly, Katey wrestled with Craig's zip and unbuttoned the top stud on his pants, which then popped open and revealed his boxers underneath. Craig grunted slightly as her cool fingers search inside and tried to pull it out into the open. Katey flinch and blinked as his dick flopped out and into her face. She looked up at him as she held it in her hand.

Craig looked back down at her, "Call me Daddy and ask me if you can suck my dick."

Katey swallowed and half whispered, "Daddy, can I please suck your dick?" She looked at the floor, ashamed of what she was being made to say.

Craig reached forward, cupping her chin and lifting her face gently back up so she looked him in the eyes. "Say, 'please, Daddy, I really want to suck your dick', louder this time."

Katey closed her eyes and drew a deep breath, saying it again almost angrily, "Please, Daddy, I really want to suck your dick."

Craig grinned, "Well, by all means…" and gestured towards his dick.  
"Suck away."

Katey looked down at his dick in her hand and opened her mouth, awkwardly leaning down and wrapping her mouth around it and started sliding up and down gently.

Craig spoke as he watched the delivery boy maneuver the woman around so he could go down on her. "Remember Katey, the more horny you make me, the better job you do, the quicker I cum and the sooner I let you go."

In response, Katey started swirling her tongue around Craig's dick as she gave it a squeeze. She started pumping her hand up and down the shaft and licking and slurping the head of Craig's dick furiously.

Craig watched amazed at Katey's enthusiasm as she bobbed up and down. She started gently tickling his balls as she unzipped her top with her other hand. Her breasts poked out between the folds of her jacket, much to Craig's delight. "Oh yeah, baby. That's good. Keep doing it and I'll cum soon."

Katey let the jacket fall slightly down off her shoulders as Craig leaned forward and massaged her breasts. He ran his left hand through her hair, massaging her head and gently pulling her further down onto his dick.

Katey continued working away on him, pulling herself off only momentarily to catch an extra breath now and then as Craig writhed around on the couch, obviously enjoying it.

"Oh yeah, Katey, you slut! Keep going!" He wasn't paying any more attention to the woman and the delivery boy on the TV anymore. "Oh yeah baby! Oh Katey! Yes!"

Katey got a shock as Craig grabbed her hair, yanked her off his dick and started cumming on her face. She tightly shut her mouth and eyes as the wads shot out onto her face. Craig was in ecstasy, "YYYEEEESSSS!!"

Craig was breathing hard and opened his eyes to see large streams of his semen clotted on Katey's scrunched up face, his dick still throbbing and dribbling. "Oh yeah! That's it baby. You did good. You can go and wash up."

Katey carefully opened her left eye, her right eye was caked in semen, and got up and ran upstairs. Craig sat there, panting and watching his dick relax and deflate. The delivery boy had the woman laid out on the bed and was playing with her pussy before he inserted himself in, much to the woman's "pleasure".

Very relaxed, Craig headed for the toilet in the master bedroom ensuite and cleaned himself up. Still feeling tingly in his crotch he walked upstairs and could hear the shower running. Smiling, he walked back down stairs and switched off the DVD and TV.

Yawning, he opened the front door and yelped in surprise and shut the door immediately. A zombie was right outside the door and as Craig backed away, the door and walls erupted as zombie fists pounded on it. His heart surging after the fright, he ran back upstairs and bounded for the front window in Ben's room.

Looking out, he was stunned to see over twenty zombies milling about outside.


	13. Unwanted guests

**Author's note: This is my first attempt at fiction in 8 years and I would very much appreciate all forms of feedback. Please leave a review, even if you hate it, or advise of improvements or plot points you would like to see. I intend for this to be a long term story (i.e. 20+ chapters).**

"I can't control the violence! I love it!" - Theshold / Slayer

**CHAPTER 14 – Unwanted guests**

Craig stood in disbelief looking out the window of Ben's bedroom, overlooking the front of the house. He steadied himself, shaking his head to wake up and properly assess the situation.

"Fuck, OK OK. Um…." He leaned out the window to get a better look and the zombies saw him. They reached up hungrily into the air towards him, rushing forwards in a crush and trying in vain to climb the house's brick walls up to him. Craig scanned the crowd a few times until he counted 21 zombies. He hurried to Katey's bedroom and looked out her window over the back of the house. He saw one zombie ambling around aimlessly and pulled away from the window before it saw him.

Sitting down on Katey's messy unmade bed, he ran through options in his mind, trying to ignore the moans and growls coming from outside. He couldn't get outside or he'd be swamped. He had to try and thin their numbers down. The rifle, thank god. When he came in after visiting Inverloch, he set the rifle case on the carpet by the front door before he went into the kitchen.

Now, it seemed, was as good a time as any to test out his skills with a rifle. He went downstairs, pounding and scratching echoing through the house as the zombies scrambled to get inside. Luckily, the boarded up windows were holding, but he had to contain this situation before one of them gave in and they swarmed inside. There would be no defense if they did.

Craig grabbed the rifle case and quickly headed back upstairs up to Ben's room. He set the case on the bed and opened it, revealing the shiny weapon, comfortably encased in a foam mould. Craig picked it up, again surprised at the heavy weight of the gun and fumbled to open the small cardboard box that contained the bullets. The bullets fell out and rolled around on the floor. He grabbed one and felt instantly relieved as the large sharp bullet slid easily into the chamber. Craig clumsily cocked the bolt action mechanism and the bullet was loaded.

Feeling nervous and excited, Craig carefully slung the rifle under his arm and turned to aim it out the window down to the crowd below. He readied his stance and felt goofy as the barrel wavered in his left hand, his right hand curled around the trigger hold. The gun wobbled and swayed slightly as he looked down the site, his cheek fitting well against the smooth wooden stock. Looking through the little site, it was difficult to get a proper bead on a single zombie as they milled about, rushing around amongst themselves.

Instead, Craig aimed further down at a zombie who was standing relatively still, stuck behind another scrambling against the bricks of the house's front wall. His right hand trembling, Craig lined up the zombie's head in the sights and fired quickly.

The sudden POW of the shot hurt his ears and momentarily stunned him. He had held it somewhat correctly so that the kickback was absorbed by his shoulder without injury. The sudden jerk into the crook of his shoulder was sudden and definite, but not painful.

Craig lowered the rifle down to see if the shot was successful. The zombie he had aimed at was still standing, but the one slightly behind and next to it had a large chunk torn off its arm. Craig had missed, a little high and to the left.

Stammering and shivering at the rush, he reached down and picked up another bullet off the floor, again feeling relieved as the bullet chambered easily and the bolt action click-clacked reassuringly.

Again, Craig steadied his stance, the butt of the rifle sitting comfortably in his shoulder and his cheek resting on the wooden mould near the trigger. He aimed again at the same zombie before, but this time consciously aimed slightly down and right of its head.

He pulled the trigger. POW!

The rifle kicked into his shoulder comfortably as he lowered the barrel and checked to see if the shot had hit.

The zombie was no longer visible in the crowd as another zombie took its place.

Craig smiled and laughed to himself, elated to have scored a head shot. He reached down for another bullet as he heard something behind him.

Katey was leaning around the doorway looking at him, her hair wet, wrapped in a towel and her shoulders glistening as water drops clung to her skin. She looked worried. "Craig, I heard gunshots. What's going on?" She clung to the doorframe warily, keeping her distance from Craig, eyeing the rifle in his hands.

"Look outside in the front yard. I dunno how they got here, but there's about 20 zombies outside."

Katey looked shocked as she disappeared from the doorway.

Craig turned back to the window, aiming the rifle through the open window again to resume shooting.

"OMIGOD!" Katey had obviously seen them. Craig turned as she appeared in the door again, clutching the door frame, looking very obviously scared and screaming hysterically. "OMIGOD! Craig what are we gonna do? What are-"

Craig outstretched his free hand, "It's OK. It's OK!" She stopped screaming. "I'll take care of them." Katey looked at the rifle cradled in Craig's other hand and appeared to gather herself. "Katey, get dressed, keep a look out at the back window in your room. I'll take care of the front, you watch the back and let me know what's going on OK?"

She nodded and quickly darted out of view to her room, stammering. "OKOKOKOKOKOK!"

Craig shook his head and turned to aim out the window again as Katey screamed again. "OMIGOD OMIGODOMIGOD! There's another one in the backyard!!"

"Yeah, I saw that one!" he yelled over her screaming. "Let me know if you see any more OK?"

Craig sighed as Katey screamed back, "OKOKOKOKOK!"

He tried to relax and block Katey's rambling out of his mind as he lined up the sights again, aiming for another zombie. In his excitement, he pulled the trigger and yelped as a sharp pain shot up his shoulder and through his face. The rifle dropped from his hands, thumping heavily on the floor as he clutched himself and tried to stop from falling over.

He stood there, waiting for the aching pain to subside, which it eventually did. As he relaxed he realized what he did wrong. He rushed the shot and didn't hold the rifle properly into his shoulder and cheekbone. The kickback had hit him hard instead of absorbing properly into his shoulder.

He carefully leaned out the window to check his shot and was somewhat happy to see that whilst his shot had missed the intended target, he saw another zombie, a large hole in its head, slumped down to the ground. Again, up and to the left of where aimed.

"Fucking lucky, old man." He said to himself and calmed himself with a large breath in, then out. He eyed the rifle laying on the floor, slowly picked it up and laid it on the bed. He scooped up all the bullets he could find, he counted 42 in all, and laid them out in a neat single file on the bed.

Carefully and deliberately, he picked up the rifle and loaded another bullet. 'Click clack' and he was ready again. Again, slowly, he turned for the window and aimed. The butt of the rifle pressed into his bruised and sore shoulder and face, but still felt comfortable. Taking his time, he lined up a target, adjusted slightly down and right to compensate his aim and pulled the trigger. POW!

He lowered the rifle and saw he had just missed, blowing off the zombie's jaw. Breathing deeply to keep calm, he reached down to the bed and loaded another bullet. "At this rate" he thought, "I'm gonna use up just about all my bullets to kill them all. 2 bullets for each zombie at a minimum. I have to do better."

Breathing deeply and slowly, he reloaded and aimed again. Adjusting his aim, this time he did not flinch as much as he pulled the trigger and saw the head of the zombie he was aiming explode in the sights.

He was getting better at this.

Slowly and calmly, Craig patiently thinned the crowd down until only 4 were left in the front yard. He missed just as often as he hit, but did not panic or rush his shots. He reached down for the bed again….. his hand swept across the sheets and found nothing. Turning, Craig was angry to find that only one bullet was left, teetering on the edge of the bed.

Cursing, he loaded it and aimed down at a zombie that had tripped over another zombie's body. Carefully he aimed and fired. The zombie's neck blew open, but it still moved.

On his last shot, he had missed…. Again.

Setting down the rifle against the window sill, he called out to Katey, "Katey! How many zombie's in the backyard?"

"Um…. Just one!" he heard a shout back.

Craig walked over to her bedroom where he saw her clothed in a tracksuit and sneakers, her hair tied back. She was sitting on a small chair by the window sill, which gave Craig an idea. He should have sat down and rested the rifle on the window sill when he fired on the zombies. His aim would have been better. He snorted in annoyance to himself.

"Katey, I ran out of bullets, there's 5 left outside."

Katey's eyes went wide, "There's no more bullets left? There's no more bullets left?! You said-"

Craig stepped forward and pointed forcefully at her, "HEY! Shut the fuck up!" She retreated deeper into her chair looking sheepish and nervous. "There used to be 22 of these things, now there's only 5. That's a fuckload better than you or your pussy father could do. DON'T YOU EVER SPEAK TO ME LIKE THAT AGAIN!" Katey clutched herself and began to sob after his outburst.

Craig stepped back and calmed himself, "I'm gonna go outside and take care of the leftovers. Remember, I said I would protect you, and I will. You stay here. Don't move."

She nodded vigorously as she curled up on her chair. "OK." She mumbled softly.

Satisfied, Craig headed downstairs and looked for the steel pipe. It was leaning against the wall near the front door. He grabbed it and gripped it hard, swinging it around in his hands. Listening to the woosh sound it made as it cut through the air.

Craig intensified his breathing and started bobbing on the balls of his feet like a boxer, trying to psych himself up. "Who's the man? Who's the man?" Chanting to himself. "Who's the man? Who da man?! WHO DA MAN!?" He was shouting.

"WHO DA MAN?! WHO DA FUCKING MAN?! I'M THE FUCKING MAN!!!"

Craig grabbed the door knob and yanked the door open. Rushing blindly outside, he readied the pipe over his shoulder.

"COME AND GET IT FROM THE FUCKING MAN!" Craig stepped forward, planting his foot as he swung hard into a zombie's head on his left and then whipped the pipe back to the right cracking into the head of another zombie in a quick snapping motion. Both fell away limp, flying across along the ground, dust puffing up into the air.

Craig turned left again as the remaining two zombies charged him. Craig jumped forward and swung hard again as he landed a solid connection, hitting a zombie hard in the neck. The momentum of the swing sent the zombie crashing into the charging zombie next to it and they both tumbled down into the dust at the foot of the front wall of the house, one on top of the other. The zombie on top was dead weight, pinning the other scrambling zombie down. Craig seized the opportunity and smashed the pipe down on its head, killing it instantly.

Craig didn't bother to check the bodies as he turned and ran to the side of the house, grunting and panting, past the garage. As he turned the corner, he saw another zombie charging towards him, arms pumping by its sides. Craig skipped, turned the pipe over in his hands and sent the butt smashing square into the zombie's face, sending it tumbling around and flying behind him, thumping awkwardly in the dust.

His feet sliding in the dirt, Craig swiveled around as the zombie got back on it's feet, its face crushed inward, as it stretched its arms out for him. Craig kicked out, connecting with the zombie's chest and felling it on its back. He stepped forward, pipe over his head and smashed it down on the vulnerable zombie's already crushed face, flattening it in a wet crunch and it fell back limp in the dirt.

Adjusting his grip on the blood slickened pipe, Craig slowly swiveled around and jogged around the house's perimeter, checking for any more threats. Craig was so charged and hyped he wished another 5 of those undead monsters would show, just so he could destroy them again.

As he came back to the bodies at the front of the house again, he scanned the horizon, looking for any more and finding none in the darkening afternoon and overcast light.

This fight was over, and Craig had comprehensively won. He hoisted the pipe up over his head, like He-Man.

"WHO IS THE FUCKING MAN?!! HUH?!" He gestured the pipe towards the bodies of the fallen undead in the front yard. "HUH?! ANY OF YOU?! NooooOOOOOOoooo! I. AM. THUH. MAN!!!" Laughing wildly, he skipped back inside, closing the door behind him and threw the bloodied pipe down onto the welcome mat at the foot of the stairs.

Grinning broadly, he went upstairs to find Katey. "Katey! I got 'em!"

She was still sitting on the chair by the window. She looked afraid of him.

Craig stood in the doorway and clapped his hands. "I got 'em. All dead. 22 zombie motherfuckers… DEAD! Woohoo!"

Katey clutched herself, obviously not sharing his enthusiasm. She eyed his shirt, splatters of blood contrasting against the white cotton material. Trails of dry blood snaked across his bright-eyed smile.

"Hoo yeah! You keep an eye open. I'm gonna go have shower and wash this shit off. You let me know if you see anything OK?"

"OK." She said weakly.

"Goddamn!" Craig exclaimed as he disappeared back down the stairs and got into the shower.

Halfway through the shower as warm water snaked down his body into the pink swirl of blood and water around the drain, Craig's mood dropped. "How the fuck did 22 zombie's find us? Where did they come from?"

He froze completely as something else dawned on him. "If that ever happens again, we're fucked. No more bullets." He ran his hands through his slick wet hair. "I need more guns and ammo. I need to go back to Inverloch and bargain with Gordon."

Craig took a mouthful of the water as it sprayed down his face and he spat it back out again against the glass of the shower cubicle. "What do I have that Gordon would want?"

Craig exhaled, sighing loudly as he thought of something….


	14. Betrayal of trust

**Author's note: This is my first attempt at fiction in 8 years and I would very much appreciate all forms of feedback. Please leave a review, even if you hate it, or advise of improvements or plot points you would like to see. I intend for this to be a long term story (i.e. 20+ chapters).**

"Love me, love me. Say that you love me. Fool me, fool me. Go on and fool me." – Love Fool / The Cardigans

**CHAPTER 15 – Betrayal of trust**

Craig's mood was quite low as he sat on the couch, watching porn by himself after having just polished off his breakfast of canned pumpkin soup.

It had been three days since the crowd of zombies had swarmed their house and he had killed them all, using up all his bullets in the process.

He had decided that he needed to replenish his firearm supplies, and if possible, get more guns and ammunition. He would leave soon to go see Gordon.

The drive to Inverloch was again uneventful. No zombies. Deserted.

The possession he had realized that would be of value to Gordon and his posse wasn't too difficult to haul into the boot of the Audi. He hoped it would get him bullets for his spare 9mm pistol and bullets for the rifle. Maybe he could even get a machine gun or a shotgun.

Craig slowed as he approached the camping store and was not surprised to see Gordon rise from a chair on the roof of the store, watching him as he pulled up outside. As he stepped out of the car, he saw Cane, Mark and another man, all dressed in the same clothes as before, blue pants, white T-shirt, bullet proof vest and balaclava.

Craig waved up to Gordon as he closed his driver's door.

Gordon addressed him, arms outstretched, "Craig, good to see you again. I assume you are here to trade. What have you got for me?"

Craig held his finger up, indicating he needed a moment and popped the boot open. He reached inside and guided Katey out of the boot and onto the road. She was dressed only in her underwear and she clutched herself as she realized what was going on.

Craig grabbed her hands roughly as he held her out before him for the men to see. They all whistled, obviously happy with his offer.

Katey struggled and tried her best to hide her face behind her hair, but Craig yanked her hair, pulling her face back for them to see. She yelped in pain and started to sob, "Nooo No!"

Craig whispered in her ear, "Katey, shut up or I'll take you back home and torture you. Keep still. Behave and do what I say. Trust me."

Craig looked back up at Gordon. He could see Cane, Mark and the third man also looking up at him, waiting for him to speak. "Craig!" He saluted gingerly. "I am impressed. I will admit, you brought me something I don't have and would very much like to have. What do you want in return?" 

"Guns!"

Gordon blinked slowly, "Care to elaborate?"

"I have a 9mm pistol and a bolt action rifle. I've run out of bullets. I want 100 rounds for each of them."

Gordon was visibly disturbed by Craig's demand and looked as though he was considering swallowing his sense of commerce and shooting Craig down.

After a full minute of silence from Gordon, Craig decided to tempt him and the boys to emphasise Katey's worth to them. He fingered her bra strap and ran his hand down to reveal her right breast, now healed from the bruising he inflicted when he brutally raped her over a week ago. Katey screamed and squirmed in his sure grip as he started to massage her exposed breast and pinch her nipple.

Mark and the other mystery man squealed with delight. Cane and Gordon stood fast, unmoving.

Craig carefully replaced Katey's breast back inside her bra and stared up at Gordon. Not saying a word.

Eventually, Mark broke the silence as he pleaded to Gordon. "Come on Gordon! He's got some pussy to trade! We got enough guns! Come on!"

Gordon continued to stare at Craig, "Shut up Mark!" he scratched his chin, still mulling over the deal.

Feigning impatience, Craig yanked Katey's arms around to his side, back to the car as Gordon stopped them with a loud shout, "Wait!"

Craig looked back up at him, Katey looking up as well pleadingly, sobbing.

"Craig…… Deal. Boys, go get his bullets."

Katey started screaming, "No! NO! NO!" but Craig didn't bother to stop her. He held her fast as shekicked and screamed as the men came back outside with boxes in their arms. They opened the lids for Craig to see, and he nodded for them to place them in his boot, satisfied.

Excitedly, Cane, Mark and the other mystery man stood in front of Craig and Katey. Cane opened his arms out ready to receive her.

Katey struggled as viciously as she could, but couldn't resist as Craig shoved her out into Cane's vice like grip. Mark squealed with delight as Cane dragged her, still kicking and screaming back inside the store.

Craig looked back up at Gordon, who was smiling back down at him. "Nice doing business with you, Craig. See you 'round."

Craig nodded in return and silently got back into his car and turned around, heading back the way he came and out of town again.

When he arrived back home, he laid his 9mm pistol and rifle out on the floor and carefully counted the bullets in the boxes. 110 9mm bullets, with 5 empty magazines and 95 rifle bullets.

Craig mulled over the plan in his mind, patiently waiting until sunset, when he loaded the pistol and rifle, along with a large cleaver from the kitchen and his steel pipe into the Audi and set off back to Inverloch in the dark.


	15. Caught with their pants down

**Author's note: This is my first attempt at fiction in 8 years and I would very much appreciate all forms of feedback. Please leave a review, even if you hate it, or advise of improvements or plot points you would like to see. I intend for this to be a long term story (i.e. 20+ chapters).**

"Cold and freezing, I did all this for you." – Born Is The Enemy / Day's End

**CHAPTER 16 – Caught with their pants down**

The glow of the dashboard comforted Craig as he drove through the black night, his headlights set down low. He drove very slowly, only 30 kmph and it took 40 minutes before he reached the outer fringes of Inverloch.

Turning off his headlights altogether, he slowly eased the Audi through the Inverloch streets, relying on both memory and the faint glow of the moon as a guide.

In the dark and deserted road, he pulled the car to the right and parked it on the other side of the street, facing out back towards the main road home. He opened his driver door, switching off the door lights as he stepped out into the street, around the bonnet to the passenger door, which he also opened. He reach in and slung the rifle over his shoulder, the pistol in the small of his back behind his belt and slung a small backpack into his back, the straps pulled tightly.

Leaving the doors open, he crept down the street, stopping as he reached the intersection at the end and peered around to the left. He could faintly make out the Aussie Disposal store in the distance. Running low and quiet, he ran across the open intersection turned left down an alleyway, which then opened into another street, silent, deserted and blanketed by the night. Carefully, he crept further down, reaching the end and peered around to the left.

Much closer he could see the Aussie Disposals store and he scanned the area for any sign of life.

None. He couldn't see anyone out front and no one on the roof.

Running on the balls of his feet, Craig proceeded across the street and down towards the store, hugging the storefronts as he went. The sneakers did a good job muffling his footsteps and were painted black with shoe polish. He wore matching black clothes and a large sock on his head, eyes and a nose cut out.

A rush of adrenaline surged through him as he reached the corner wall of the store. Pausing, he could hear noises inside. It sounded like laughter, shouting, thumping music….

Craig crept around down the side of the store and round to the back. He could see a solid looking door and a large garbage dumpster set against the back wall. He noticed some piping extending down next to the dumpster and headed for it.

Carefully, he climbed up on the closed dumpster, extremely careful not to trip or fall or make any noise. He gripped the piping that snaked up the wall and up to the roof. He gave it a sharp tug and it held solid. Tensing his hands and legs, he carefully started climbing up. He was patient and made sure he had solid footholds and handholds as he slowly climbed closer and closer to the roof, where the pipe curled over the ledge.

Finally, Craig reached the top and carefully peered over. The roof was empty. Proceeding, he climbed over and carefully set his foot down on the concrete floor, followed by his other foot.

He reached behind him and gripped the pistol, bringing it around in front of him. He saw the roof's staircase entrance door to his right and crept up to it. Carefully, he attempted to turn the knob and was relieved that it rotated freely. He continued to slowly turn it, wary that the door knob might squeak and sighed silently as it reached its full rotation and the door felt slack in his hands. The pistol gripped hard in his hands and ready, he swung the door open and pointed the gun down into the stairwell.

The rough bricks walls of the stairwell were covered with dark graffiti, illuminated by a lone light bulb sticking out from the concrete ceiling.

No one.

The sound of laughter and music was much more definite and loud now. It sounded like they were having a whale of a time.

Creeping slowly, one step at a time, feeling vulnerable and exposed under the bright light, he descended the concrete stairs and reached the open doorway at the bottom. Peering inside he could see shelves stacked with assorted equipment, electric saws, wooden planks, boots and other miscellaneous equipment. To the right he saw another doorway, open and he saw movement. He could clearly hear the voices of the four men inside over the rock music played up loud.

"Yeah baby!"

"Give it to her Cane!"

"Hey look, she loves it!"

"HAHAHA!"

Clutching the pistol in front of him, pointed at the doorway, he crept down silently into the storeroom and up to the doorway, hiding just left of it. Carefully, he peered around the corner.

The room looked like another storeroom, brick walls and wodden shelves stacked with more hardware and other equipment. Illuminated by a single lamp hanging from the cold concrete ceiling, his attention was clearly drawn to the left. He could see a naked man on a bed, on top of what Craig presumed was Katey as he fucked her, surrounded by three other men, drinking what looked like beer and masturbating around the bed.

He couldn't actually see Katey, but he knew she was likely tied to the bed or held down as Cane lay on top, pumping down on her quite roughly and fast.

As the music pumped away and the men laughed and drank, Craig tensed himself, adjusting he grip in the pistol and charged out into the open.

Strafing across the room, he fired at the men, one after the other, bring his aim across from the left to the right, quickly and efficiently as his heart raced and time seemed to slow down. Everything blurred in the rush. He couldn't easily identify whether his aim was true as he fired on the four bodies, oblivious to his presence, until he reached the other side of the room, crashing into the brick wall and down onto his knees. He didn't even know how many shots he fired.

Scrambling to get back up, he held the gun up out in front of him as he stepped slowly back out to the middle of the room and surveyed the mayhem, trying to ignore the rock music blaring in his ears.

He saw Cane slumped forward on the bed, limp and bloodied. The man on the left was on the floor, still, two gun shot wounds visible in his side. On the right, he saw two men lying on the ground, one still and his head blown open and one scrambling beneath the dead body.

Pointing the gun down at the scrambling naked man, pinned down, Craig stepped forward and recognized the voice as he spoke.

"Fuck! Don't shoot me, man!" It was Mark. He froze as he saw Craig rise above him, gun drawn straight down on his face. The stereo right next to him blaring out some ungodly screaming rock music. The gun firmly aimed at him, Craig reached to his right and turned the volume down to zero on the stereo, Mark's hysterical pleading piercing the sudden silence.

"Please, please, don't' shoot me!" He looked to the bed and pointed. "Take her! Just don't kill me!"

Craig cocked the pistol and leaned forward, "Another one for the pile, fucker" aimed and fired without hesitation as Mark's face seemed to bend inward and snap back, a large stream of blood spraying behind him on the floor, his eyes staring confused and dead up to the ceiling.

Muffled crying and sobbing caught his attention on the bed and he saw an arm and leg tied to the bed posts, struggling around as Cane lay on top, smothering the writhing body underneath.

Craig grabbed Cane's large arm and pushed him away, send him sliding off the bed, dumb and limp, revealing Katey, naked, alone and tied to the bed, her arms and legs splayed and struggling, a strip of duct tape across her mouth. He hair was a tangled mess and her eyes, though closed in fear, were red and inflamed from crying and, quite possibly, some rough treatment at the hands of the now dead men.

Craig stood still, towering over her and looking down as she slowly opened her eyes and looked up at him. Her eyes went wide as she saw the unidentified assailant and she sobbed in cold fear. Slowly, Craig reached up and pulled off his make-shift balaclava. Katey simply stared at him for a moment, stunned, then started sobbing with relief, a smile struggling to fold beneath the duct tape in her mouth.

"Katey." He whispered softly. He reached down and Katey held still and mashed her eyes shut at the searing pain as he tore off the duct tape.

She cried loudly, as though trying to cry out her pain and trauma into the pillow underneath her head, her tears wetting the ends of her hair, causing it to stick together slightly. Craig proceeded to untie her hands and feet, quickly, but gently. As he finished with the last one, she almost leapt off the bed and hugged him unashamedly. Stunned at first, Craig reciprocated and hugged her back, tightly as she almost choked him.

"I told you to trust me. I said I would protect you, and I will." He said as he clutched her tightly, consuming and wrapping her naked and small body into his chest.

Katey continued to sob into his shoulder, choking as the tears and cries seemed to try and come out all at once.


	16. Defy

**Author's note: This is my first attempt at fiction in 8 years and I would very much appreciate all forms of feedback. Please leave a review, even if you hate it, or advise of improvements or plot points you would like to see. I intend for this to be a long term story (i.e. 20+ chapters).**

"We ain't gonna take it . We're not gonna take it anymore" – We're Not Gonna Take It / Twisted Sister

**CHAPTER 17 – Defy**

Craig sat on the computer chair in Katey's bedroom as he watched her wake up, his arms firmly folded across his chest.

She flinched as her eyes snapped open and blinked to try and absorb the morning glare through her bedroom window. She stared at Craig once her eyes adjusted and sat up, her gaze cold and angry.

"Why did you sell me off like that? Why did you come back?" Her eyes pleaded, but no tears were forthcoming. Her lips pursed in frustration and anger.

Craig simply looked back at her, unmoving, "I needed guns. Gordon, the leader of those fucks said he would trade with me if I gave him something he valued. You were the only thing I could think of that I had to give."

Katey leaned forward defiantly, but Craig didn't flinch, simply meeting her cold gaze. "Why did you come back for me?" She hissed.

"You were a diversion. You kept them busy, giving me the opportunity to sneak up on them and kill them with the very bullets I traded you for. Now Inverloch is mine."

Katey baulked at the freezing cold and calculated way he spoke to her. "I was…. a diversion?"

"Yep."

"Do you know what they did to me?"

"I could guess."

Katey smirked slightly as she spoke, the bedsheet in her hand scrunching as she clutched it tightly, her knuckles white. "You never fucked me like that. They made you seem like a little dickless freak to me."

Craig smirked in return. "There was a guy there called Mark."

Katey froze, puzzled.

"You knew him, didn't you?"

Frowning, her unsteadiness betrayed the truth.

"Did he try to fuck you before? I read your diary on your computer."

Katey face glowed blood red in rage as she spoke through her gritted teeth, "Get out of my bedroom."

Craig continued to stare for a mere moment, before he stood and calmly walked to the door, Katey eyeing him coldly as he proceeded across the room. He turned back to her as he reached the doorway. "Understand this Katey. To me, you are not human. I don't care how you feel, and I don't care what they did to you. I don't care about your misery."

Katey tried to keep herself from crying, blinking to try and hold the tears back.

After a short pause he continued, "You are only alive because you have a pussy. Know you place, bitch. You belong to me. I own you." With that he disappeared from the doorway and down the stairs.

Craig filled a glass of water and began drinking it in the kitchen, when something caused him to spin around, sending water sloshing down on the floor. He froze as he saw Katey standing in front of him, his pistol clutched in her hands and aimed straight at him, her hands trembling. She was still in her underwear and tears were running down her face.

He simply stood, waiting for her to do something. Struggling to draw breath, she whispered, "You're a bastard, Craig."

Sensing her desperation and seeing her hands shake more violently, he threw the half empty glass of water at her and darted to the right, around the card table in the centre of the kitchen. Katey flinched and fired, missing Craig horribly, sending the bullet harmlessly into the floor.

Craig was already next to her as she gathered herself and turned for him. Before she could bring the pistol back up again, Craig punched her hard on her left cheek, snapping her head over suddenly and sending her sprawling into the kitchen door and down onto the tiles, crashing heavily, unconscious.

The pistol dropped to the floor as Craig towered over her. His knuckles cracked loudly as he clenched his fists tightly.

A dull ache slowly woke Katey up and a bright light stung her eyes, lighting her brain on fire with a sharp headache. Blinking, she was aware she couldn't move. Opening her eyes, she took in the gruesome sight before her.

The first things she saw was the backyard and an open pit in which four bodies lay, bloated and pale-green in the dirt. Although the corpses' heads were horribly broken and distorted, she recognised them immediately. Her Dad, Mum, Ben and little Rose lay before her, face up and staring at her blankly.

The brutal and unholy sight before her disturbed her so deeply it felt like a bomb went off in her stomach and a hot rush surged up through her as she choked and projectile vomited violently down on the pit. Her body racked and contorted sharply as she found it hard to double over as she retched painfully.

Screaming and choking, was only now aware she was tied to a chair, alone on the back lawn behind the house.

"NO! NO! NOOOOO! YOU BASTARD!!! MOTHERFUCKER!!! cough NYAAAAHHH!! I'LL KILL YOU CRAIG!!!!" Hot pain surged through her throat as she screamed at the top of her lungs, oblivious now to the pounding of her headache and the sick feeling in her stomach.

She continued to scream like a rabid animal as Craig appeared, walking from around the side of the house and stopping, standing on the other side of the pit, the pistol in his hand by his side. He calmly stood there, listening unfeelingly as she kept screaming obscenities and threatening to kill him. The setting sun behind him gave him an other-worldy appearance, like a ghost.

He waited patiently until she finally broke down and started crying and sobbing. Tired and spent.

"Katey." He said, no expression in his voice.

She gave no indication she heard him.

"Katey, I'm going to give you another choice. Last chance."

Her sobbing subsided slightly, indicating she was rational again and listening.

"I am prepared to forgive you if you promise you'll behave."

"What's the other alterna cough native?" she gasped out, trying to suppress her sobbing as she stared down at the bloated and disfigured corpses of her family.

"Release in death."

Without hesitation, she looked up at Craig and barked, "Death!"

Craig grinned, "Woah woah, there. There's a catch. I get to choose how you die."

Katey hesitated.

Craig leaned forward, trying to establish eye contact as she stared down at the pit. "Well?"

Katey swallowed. She knew Craig would kill her excruciatingly slowly. He had made previous threats to her before, such as tying her to a chair and sticking pins in her, peeling her skin off and shoving various sharp utensils into her genitals.

She tried to hold back her tears, but failed as they fell down and disappeared into the grass by her feet. "I'll behave." She whimpered, resigned again to her fate.

His face expressionless, he strolled up to her until he was standing right in right of her. He reached down, his fingers cupped under her chin as he tilted Katey's face up to him. She stared, not willing to blink.

He simply stared back, smirking slightly. "Good." Then he walked around behind her and Katey felt air on her hands and arms again as he released her and simply walked away. Katey turned to see a line of rope drag along the ground, snaking around the corner of the house and disappear, leaving her alone.

Katey fell to her knees and cried. Her tears filling down into the pit as the corpses of her family stared back at her.

Craig awoke the next morning and walked into the kitchen to fetch breakfast for himself and Katey, who had been relocated back into the garage. Hot canned soup poured into a bowl in hand, he opened the garage door and promptly dropped it on the floor.

Katey was slumped on the ground, a large pool of blood surrounding her and staining her clothes, a large gash on her left wrist.

However, something else caught his attention.

Written in blood and smeared roughly in the concrete floor was a message.

FUCK YOU :)

Craig screamed, furious at Katey's last act of defiance.


	17. Move on

**Author's note: This is my first attempt at fiction in 8 years and I would very much appreciate all forms of feedback. Please leave a review, even if you hate it, or advise of improvements or plot points you would like to see. I intend for this to be a long term story (i.e. 20+ chapters).**

"_And I don't know where you left me, but says here in the water you must be gone by now. I can tell somehow." Split Screen Sadness / John Mayer_

**CHAPTER 18 – Move on**

Craig sat on the couch in the loungeroom, still fuming after Katey's suicide, two days ago. He had barely eaten and was dirty, smelly and unshaven. His eyes were bloodshot and puffy from having barely slept in that time.

After looking Katey's body over when he originally found her, he found a fork he had given her to eat a serve of instant noodles with. Small strands of flesh and clotted blood tangles between the spines of the fork's head obviously meant that Katey had used it to cut open her wrist, which was a mangled and torn mess.

He looked down to the knuckles of his right hand, which was criss-crossed with several small scabbed-over cuts. He had punched the mirror in the master bedroom yesterday, shattering the glass, which still lay embedded in the carpet.

A hard uncomfortable sensation in his pelvis brought him away from his angry mullings and he got up and walked slowly upstairs to the children's bathroom to relieve himself, one of the few tasks he got up off the couch for. He finished quickly.

After not washing his hands, Craig walked into Ben's bedroom to have a look outside. To check that everything was OK.

Everything was. No one around in the distance.

Glancing down in the front yard, he saw the rotting remains of the 21 zombies he had killed almost a week ago. Seeing them strewn around in the dirt, piled over one another he was reminded of a similar scene, although far larger in scale, at Inverloch.

The pile.

Sighing and blinking slowly, deep in thought, Craig decided it was high time he left this house behind and got his act together.

Iverloch was his town now. He needed to relocate and run the place.

Taking his time, unhurried yet determined, he packed all of the food and water he still had left (equivalent to another fortnight's worth he surmised) into the boot of the Audi. He packed suitcases of clothes and other items he deemed necessary, most important of all were his cache of weapons, took a long shower and shaved his scraggly, stubbly beard off. He combed his slightly long waved hair with a plastic comb and surveyed himself in the mirror, dressed in a blue shirt, clean jeans and boots. He looked neat.

Throughout the entire morning he never said or mumbled a word as he went about his tasks and eventually climbed into the packed Audi, ignoring the massacre scene in the front yard.

The drive to Inverloch was somewhat cleansing, especially as he watched the house fade and ultimately disappear in his rear-view mirror. Katey left behind, exactly where he found her, pale and cold, lying dead on the garage floor, her message written in blood now having dried hard and crusty on the concrete.

Inverloch was now a ghost town, more so than before. Craig literally was the only living inhabitant. Parking the car out the front of the Aussie Disposal store, he surveyed the empty streets before him. Papers and small items of miscellaneous rubbish blew around softly across the asphalt, clinging to the powerpoles and cars parked in the street. Lonely dead bodies lay here and there, but even from here, he caught a whiff of the pile further down the street and around the corner.

Craig decided, as done before by Gordon, to make the camping store his 'home base'. He had exited through the front door last time when he had rescued Katey and set about getting familiar with the store.

It was filled with all sorts of camping equipment, ranging from fishing rods, tents, gas bottles, sunscreen and so on. Making his way to the back rooms of the store, he paused slightly when he found the bedroom where Gordon, Mark, Cane and the other mystery man still lay naked and dead.

One by one, he hoisted them up on his shoulder and threw them into the dumpster behind the store, making sure to close the large lid.

Back inside, he found a couple of large chests, locked, but he found the keys, full of canned food and water, 9mm pistols and bullets. Back in the bedroom, he found Mark's machine gun, but he left it there untouched for the moment.

The day seemed to disappear quickly as Craig eventually left the store and went about exploring the town. He found a supermarket, clothes stores, surf stores, a McDonald's, various restaurants and pubs and knick knack and souvenir stores. He found the apartment complex Greg had talked about previously, it looked only half finished, great slabs of concrete stabbing upward into the sky surrounded by a mess of scaffolding. Filling the gaps between all of these places were houses, new and old, big and small, run-down and expensively shiny.

One thing in common for all of the houses he found, though, was that all of their lawns needed mowing, or soon would.

The highlight of the day was when he walked further down past the construction site and took in the view of the beach before him. It was late in the afternoon and he shivered in the encroaching cold winds, but he took his shoes off and strolled down into the sand anyway. The feel of the smooth sand felt so foreign and strange between his toes and under his soles as he continued down to the water.

Craig stopped just shy of the water as he watched the waves tumble in and creep up the sand towards his feet as they then died and retreated back, replaced by another wave. He stood there for what seemed like an hour, mesmerized by the soothing, calming motion of the water and the sound of the surf pounding in from further down into the surf. He heard seagulls calling in the distance.

It all felt so peaceful.

His mind wandered backwards for him, back to a time where everything was much better. His first child, Joe, was only 3 years old and Kathy was still a hot woman. He remembered when little Joe, only three years old, had his first encounter with the beach down at Port Sea. He had the time of his life. Craig remembered holding him in the water as the waves crashed softly against them, freezing at first, but like all kids, little Joe didn't want to come out of the water at the end of the day. It didn't matter how much seawater he swallowed and how badly burnt his skin was going to be later, it was fun.

He remembered Kathy sitting back on the sand watching and unpacking the little sandwiches she always made for everybody when they went on trips or picnics. Ham, cheese, tomato. Roast beef, cheese and lettuce with chutney. Turkey, tomato, mushroom and mayonnaise. All of them on white bread from the local baker back in Melbourne.

An erection popped up in his pants when he remembered Kathy leaning forward in her bikini when the kids weren't looking, giving him a nice view of her breasts and licking her lips at him. Kathy was only 1 month pregnant with Lucy.

He was eventually brought out of his trance when he saw the sun, almost blood red, starting to dip below the horizon and decided to head back. The sand between his toes and under his feet cut slightly into his skin as he put his shoes back on, after trying to pat all of the sand off, and walked back into town.

Tomorrow, he decided, he would come back here and stand in the water. Let it wash over his feet and sink him slowly down into the sand. The rhythm of the waves as they died on the beach sand was like a massage. It had been a very long time since he last had a massage from anyone.

Although he felt peaceful and relaxed, he couldn't shake the slight depression that hung over him as he left the sand and walked along the road back to town. Memories of happier times following him.

He passed many dark and deserted looking houses on the walk back. By and large they were nice looking places, a fair bit of money spent on them, especially considering their location so close to the beach. They were probably pissed off to hear about the apartments just a little further down the road that Greg had been helping to build.

He finally arrived back in town and stood before the Aussie Disposals store just as night blanketed down. He felt good.

Calm, relaxed, peaceful, yet still a little down.

He went inside, heated up a ready-made meal of honey soy chicken on rice in a microwave and fell down into a very peaceful sleep not long afterwards in the very bed Katey had been tied down in previously.

- - -

Craig woke relaxed and slowly the next morning to the sound of rain. He always felt that rain made him sleep well. It had a soothing effect on him.

He got up, went to the toilet and donned a water proof coat he found in the front of the store and walked outside, right into the rain. It was the first time it had rained since the whole zombie plague had started. As he stepped out from the front verandah of the store, he heard low hard thuds as rain drops fell down on his hood and he felt the sudden weight of the water push down on him and then trickle away down his coat and mix with the little stream that was rolling along in the gutter just behind him.

He stood still in the rain for a while, listening to the rhythm of the downfall. His eyes closed, he almost fell over at one point. He nearly drifted off to sleep on his feet. Brought out of his trance by his reflexes jolting his upright, he headed back inside with a sigh and made some breakfast.

- - -

The rain lasted a couple of hours before it slowed to a spit and finally disappeared altogether. Still wearing his coat, Craig walked around the town, getting familiar with the layout and satisfying his curiosity.

On the other side of town, he found more houses and various other shops, a hardware store, another smaller supermarket, a green grocer, a book shop, an adult book shop, a tattoo parlour, financial planner and tax accountant, hairdressers and more clothes shops.

Very aware of the pistol in hand as he explored, he found no zombies. All was silent except for himself.

He walked on further, down a main road and saw a sign for a school down a side street. Walking down to investigate, he indeed came upon a school, a primary and high school all on one campus. Inverloch Primary School and Inverloch High School.

It was a strange experience as he walked around the abandoned playgrounds and through the empty basketball courts. He saw posters and cut out pictures stuck on classrooms walls and windows, the assembly area with an Australian flag flopped down and dead, soaked from the morning rain. He saw the desks and computers and blackboards inside the classrooms, the desks arranged neatly, some in disarray and upturned. He saw the chalk outlines of hop-scotch and four-square marked out on the asphalt and a pair of cricket stumps sticking out, alone, in a grassy patch near a tree.

It wasn't right. There was supposed to be children running around, playing, making new 'best friends' bullying each other, giving each other girl germs and hurting themselves.

He could hear their laughter, squeals and crying. He was brought back to his own days at school. He had his little circle of friends like most kids.

Jerry, the nerd. Ben the redhead aviation and war nut. Brian liked Dungeons and Dragons. Hugo liked D&D too.

And Craig. Craig liked collecting cards and kicking the football around. He was easily the best player amongst his circle, but definitely not in the school.

And there was Georgia. His first 'sort of' girlfriend. It lasted a month or two and didn't really amount to anything other than a fumbled first kiss and a break-up for some stupid reason he couldn't quite remember. She was a brunette, quite shapely at the age of 15, but her braces spoiled the first kiss somewhat.

Craig and his group all promised they would remain friends, but inevitably drifted apart as they all got into different careers and went their separate ways, moving interstate, getting married or busy getting new circles of friends, done with the romantic idea of 'friends forever!'.

Further down, past the locked classrooms he saw a large enclosed gymnasium. Something didn't look right. Squinting as he walked up to the front door, he froze. Blood stains were smeared across the window inside and leaked out from under the door onto the concrete ground.

Gripping the pistol tightly in his hand and bringing it up in front of him, he crept up to a window, peeking through carefully.

Immediately he retreated away and hid behind the wall. A zombie was inside, looking away from Craig. It was a young kid of some sort, he didn't see properly.

A line of sweat started oozing out through the skin on his upper lip as he turned to head down the side of the gymnasium. He found another door, a window built into it and he looked through it quickly, but carefully.

This time he swore under his breath and couldn't bring himself to look away. It was a large gym inside, sealed and closed and swamped with zombies, milling about aimlessly. Children, teenagers and adults walked around, bumping into each other, covered in blood, clothes torn and wounds and torn skin exposed.

There must have been hundreds of them!

A zombie suddenly appeared up close in his view, and Craig dropped below the window line, hoping he hadn't been seen. Tensing his fingers around the pistol's grip, he listened and waited.

No noise. No reaction.

It hadn't seen him.

His heart pounding in his ears, he carefully tried to creep away from the gymnasium, back towards the main school buildings and back to town.

If zombies had infested the gym, there's no telling where others might be in the school. He broke out into a run at the thought, scanning back and forth quickly as he nervously passed classroom windows through the open playground. He sighed audibly as he reached the front of the school again, the car park on his right. He could see a Commodore with the driver's door open, the glass shattered and blood smeared around inside.

He suddenly felt very vulnerable and stupid for having only brought his pistol with him and his heavy coat when, for all he knew, zombies were still around and could swamp him at a moment's notice.

He did his best to slow his breathing and reduce the sound of his footsteps as he jogged back to town, back to home base.

He rounded a corner to turn down an alleyway and stopped. He saw in front of him, a sliver of a human body, facing towards him. He blinked, thinking he was seeing things, but it was there. He saw the slender outline of a woman's arm, leg, waist and a rather ample breast peeking out into the alleyway from behind the bricked corner of a house. The figure's face and remaining half of its body was obscured behind the wall.

Frowning and puzzled, he brought his gun up and crept around the corner and down the alleyway towards the obscured and alluring figure.

Silently he sidestepped further down, his vision and aim locked on the breast, pale and shapely against the red brick until he was near the corner. Taking in a deep, quiet breath he stepped out and back, the figure coming into full view.

Craig's mouth opened in shock as he saw a woman, leaning against the wall, naked and still. A gaping hole was next to her breast where the other one should be, torn and bloodied and exposed down to the bones of her rib cage.

"Jesus Christ!" Craig breathed.

In an instant, the woman turned her head to Craig and looked right at him through her wet and clumped black hair. Their eyes locked for an instant before the woman's calm demeanor erupted into an angry snarl and she sprung right for him, her teeth bared and arms out in front of her.

In that instant, Craig also fired his pistol, reflex saving him as her head suddenly whipped back and she collapsed face first into the asphalt before Craig's feet.

Craig blinked, trying to make out what just happened as he looked down at the smooth pale and naked body lying face down in the puddled alleyway.

An inhuman scream cut through the air and Craig whirled around, looking back down the alleyway. A zombie man, its face half-missing and clothes torn and tattered charged down the way towards him.

Without thinking, Craig brought up his pistol and fired multiple times. It was difficult to get a bead on the zombie's face as it darted between the alleyway's walls. One after another Craig's shots either missed and ricocheted off the brick walls or tore holes into the thing's chest. The pistol jumped repeatedly in his hands and he had to squeeze it with all his effort to keep it from flinging out of his hands, the muzzle flash half-blinding him. Craig was ready to panic until a shot finally snapped the zombie's head back and it fell into a puddle, skidding along the asphalt and collapsing next to the woman he had shot just before.

Craig looked at his pistol and was alarmed to see it was cocked back and empty. He reached into his jeans pocket and slammed in a spare magazine, the only one he brought with him, and pulled the trigger to cock the pistol.

Not waiting to see if there were any more of them, he bolted down the street, nervously eyeing the houses he passed, all the way until he reached home base, relief flooding over him as he closed and locked the barred security gates behind him.

His heart beating fast and heavy in his chest, he looked down the street before him.

Empty and quiet again except for a flocks of birds passing overhead.


	18. Shape up

**Author's note: This is my first attempt at fiction in 8 years and I would very much appreciate all forms of feedback. Please leave a review, even if you hate it, or advise of improvements or plot points you would like to see. I intend for this to be a long term story (i.e. 20+ chapters).**

"_Show a lot of things happening at once. Remind everyone what's going on, and then with every shot you show a little improvement. To show it all would take too long. That's called a montage. Ooh we want a montage…. Even Rocky had a montage…. MONTAGE!!" Montage / Trey Parker (T.E.A.M. America World Police)_

**CHAPTER 19 – Shape up**

As Craig went to bed the night before he decided to perform a round of push ups and sit ups. He was thoroughly discouraged to only be able to perform 11 consecutive push ups and 57 sit-and-hold sit ups. As he stood half naked in the mirror, he looked at himself, for the first time in a fairly long time, and was again discouraged and depressed to see, whilst better than at the height of his crippling depression since leaving jail, he was still at least 10kgs overweight at 90 kgs.

Craig decided to explore town to see if he could find a gym or a set of weights and treadmills to shape up. He explored further throughout the criss-crossing streets and found a main road he hadn't explored yet, where he found exactly that. Fitness First Health Centre was located right next to a Chinese restaurant and a faith healer.

Heartened, he adjusted Mark's machine gun, slung over his shoulder, and walked cautiously up to the front door.

The machine gun at the ready, he peered through the glass door and saw some dark stairs leading up. He pressed on the door, which opened freely.

The gun held up high to his shoulder like he'd seen in movies, he peered up the gloomy and unlit stairs through the gun's sights. It was a comfortable gun to use. Relatively light, especially compared to the rifle, he thought he recognized it as an MP5 from a video game he played once, a sub-machine gun. It was strange to think it felt this small in his hands when it looked so large being held by Mark and sitting idle on the shelf back at home base a couple of days ago.

He didn't feel fearful when he crept through town exploring with this gun in his hands. He hadn't fired it yet, but he was looking forward to doing so.

Gingerly, he ascended the cold stairs, reaching the top swiftly and arriving at the foyer of the gym.

He looked through the open floor and could see no movement amongst the equipment. He could see a series of steppers and treadmills, shelves with barbells and weights stacked neatly, various machines he didn't really recognize, all of which he was fairly eager to try out.

Careful not to make any noise, he crept forward, checking quickly over the front counter, finding nothing, and started walking steadily through the gym floor, weaving through the equipment, scanning for movement. Again, finding nothing, he carefully checked all rooms closed off from the main floor, male and female toilets and various office space behind the counter. All empty.

Another door to his left was still closed. A sign hung on the door "Consultation room" and he stepped carefully, finger hovering over the trigger of his MP5. The door had a window but the shutter was closed and he couldn't see in. He reached for the door knob with his spare left hand, careful to make sure the machine gun did not dip as he held it with his lone right hand and pushed the door open.

He immediately brought his hand back to the gun and moved to pull the trigger at the sight of a young man in fitness clothes lying face up on the floor across the way in the small room. He looked quite muscular and fit, wearing a yellow singlet and small running shorts, his arms splayed out by his sides and his face looking blankly up at the ceiling. Craig could see no obvious injuries and no blood.

Staring down at the body, Craig nervously stepped forward and gave it a small kick in the arm. The body did not move.

Relaxing somewhat, he surmised that this man must have died naturally somehow and had not come into contact with the zombie pathogen. He was not a zombie. Craig then simply closed the door and stepped away, leaving the body alone in the small room, cheap plastic chairs and inspirational posters on the wall keeping it company as it rested on the carpet.

Looking back around the floor, Craig unslung his machine gun, setting it down on a barbell shelf and got to work. He removed his tracksuit, revealing an old looking white T-shirt and a pair of sports shorts. He felt cold in the empty and silent room, the hairs on his legs standing up on end as he began stretching against a wall.

3 MONTHS LATER

Craig stood in the empty street, the miscellaneous bodies that once littered the foot paths and road were gone. He had collected them up and dumped them in a series of dumpsters he found behinds various stores.

A week ago he had found the local radio station and, after fiddling with it and reading the instruction booklet, he now understood how to use it and left a message playing on a loop explaining that Inverloch was clean, he was on his own and was offering shelter to all comers.

After having listened to the tape play away on the radio transmission system, it was obvious, even to him, that his voice betrayed a sense of loneliness and some desperation for company. These past three months on his own had been crushingly lonely. Often he distracted himself as best he could, exercising ruthlessly everyday at the gym, watching DVD's from the video store and reading whatever books caught his fancy at the local book store, mainly spy novels and some autobiographies.

He had rationed one day per week where he was allowed to visit one of the various pubs or liquor outlets in town. Whilst he didn't want to be permanently drunk and ruin his health, he also didn't like the idea of slipping back into the alcohol fueled depression that ruled his life for the 2 odd years after he was released in jail, culminating in the failed suicide attempt the night before the zombie plague started to break out back in that dingy Frankston hotel room.

It was one night in particular when he sat in the abandoned pub, very drunk from a bottle of Jack Daniel's as a tear crept down his face. The alcohol helped that one instance because it quelled whatever rage he would otherwise have felt to feel the itch of the tear as it ran done and clung to his jawline.

He missed Katey. He missed Julia. Hell, he even missed Greg and Glenda. He wished he hadn't done all of that shit, killing and raping, not because he regretted the evil nature of what he'd done, but more that he was so damn lonely and he wanted them alive and with him.

It was becoming quite cold as it was now the end of July and right in the middle of winter. Although it rained usually only once every fortnight or so, the temperature was often low, hovering somewhere around 10 to 15 degrees Celsius during the day, helped mainly by cold sea breezes off the beach.

In addition to the exercise he did at the gym, he had been swimming regularly down at the beach in a wetsuit for a time. He stopped doing it after a while because of the cold and the memories of happier times at the beach with his family that reminded him of how lonely he felt. It coupled with the episode he'd had at the pub to further emphasise how lonely he was.

He had encountered several straggling zombies around town during the three months, but had dispatched them all fairly easily. He never went anywhere without a gun and spare ammunition and always wore leather pants, leather jacket buttoned up, leather gloves and a motorbike helmet, his armour. He made a point to investigate a new house at least once per day, as much for the thrill of exploring as for whatever useful equipment and food he found. He had found all sorts of things of interest, a couple of extra handguns and bullets, keys to a nice Mercedes sports car (damn good fun to drive!), high quality liquor and wine stashed in cellars and cupboards, pictures and artwork and even home-made porn.

On the subject of porn, his appetite for sex was well cared for, even though he had no partner. He had plenty of DVD's to watch, magazines to browse and blow up dolls to fuck and toys to 'play with'.

Feeling excited and strong he now stood in the street, watching small weeds swaying in the wind that had started growing in the gutters. He was substantially more lean than before. He was almost the same weight as before, 10 kgs overweight previously, but that fat had been turned into muscle. He consumed protein shakes regularly as he worked out at the gym and was now much stronger, faster and fitter. He was in the best shape of his life.

He started out benching 60kgs, but could now do 130kgs. He timed his first 5 km run at 57 minutes (he had to stop a few times), but now almost halved that.

He stood patiently as he excitedly waited for visitors to arrive. Yesterday he received a response on the radio receiver. A caravan of 4 survivors were on their way and were due any minute.

Craig started walking down the main road as he spied a blur in the distance. A van of some sort, driving down the road towards him. He smiled underneath his helmet and quickened his pace.

He was almost running as the van, a silver Ford work van, made its way down the street and a hand waved at him from out of the window.

He waved back excitedly.


	19. Welcome Guests

**Author's note: **Sorry I've been a little slow to update. I've dabbled in some Aliens stories, one of which is running side-by-side with this one. Readers in the Aliens section are poo. They don't review. Not like DOTD people here. Special thanks to all those who have submitted a review or dropped me a line. Shadows especially. I promise to keep churning the chapters out.

Hoobajoo

"_**Getting to know you. Getting to know all about you." – Getting to Know You / The King and I**_

**Chapter 20 – Welcome Guests**

Craig adjusted his stance on the asphalt, the small stones scraping underfoot, as the Ford van slowed on its approach. He could see through the glare on the windshield two adults inside, in the front seats. A man and a woman. The woman was waving at him excitedly.

As they came closer, he heard the woman yell 'hello!' as the brakes squealed slightly as it pulled up.

Craig pulled the visor of his motorbike helmet open and peered through the passenger window into the front cabin. The man driving was a middle-aged man, grey moustache, thin gaunt features, wearing a dirty pale blue polo shirt over a thin white pull-over, and a black and white trucker cap of some sort. He appeared reserved and unsmiling. Probably the smarter of the two.

The woman was a similarly middle-aged woman, quite pudgy and overweight, probably a few years younger in her late forties, her skin pale, her hair curled and free, cascading down softly on her shoulders. She was wearing a rain jacket, bright red, the neck opened up to show a hint of cleavage behind what looked like a brown singlet. Her pearly white teeth shined at him as she smiled.

"Hey!!!!" She practically screamed at him, her arms still waving, a little bit of spare skin wobbling and jiggling underneath her arms. "You're Craig, right?!"

Damn, she was loud. Craig flinched at the loud screaming woman as he reached up and pulled his helmet off, revealing his wavy dark hair, still uncut and encroaching down his face. "Yeah!" He tried to appear enthusiastic, but he was already regretting his decision to run the radio call-out for survivors now she was here. "How you guys doin'?"

She flashed her big smile again as she reached for her door and stepped out, quickly enveloping Craig in a bear hug, lifting him up off his feet. "I'm great!! I'm so great!!"

Craig swore he heard and felt his spine snap in half.

She set him down roughly as she gestured back to the man who had been driving, now stepping out onto the road. "This is my husband, Donald. I'm Regina. We're so happy to meet you! You're like a celebrity! Oh God! I'm so excited!"

Donald sighed and gave him one of those looks a tired husband gives to another tired husband, and he reached his hand out for a handshake. Craig took it and was satisfied to feel Donald's sure grip. Reassuring. "Likewise." Donald mumbled.

Craig was already learning how to screen out Regina's constant chatter as he heard the back doors of the van pop open. Looking for the door, Regina took it as a cue to make more introductions. She roughly grabbed Craig by the arm, Donald looking on apathetically, as she dragged him to the back of the van excitedly.

Stepping around the open doors, Craig was surprised to see a young teenage boy, thin and sickly, his deep black hair overly long and covering most of his face, accompanied by a forty something woman with long black hair and an athletic build.

Without even knowing her name and after only a split second, Craig decided he liked this new woman, he didn't even know why. She wasn't what you would call 'hot', her skin was tired and winkled, her nose was a little too big and her cheek bones were not very prominent, but something about her demeanour made her attractive.

Regina practically exploded as she introduced Craig to them excitedly, gesturing with her hands as though she was introducing kids to each other at kindergarten. "Craig, This is Helen and her son Leroy. Helen, Leroy this is Craig."

Helen reached and smiled warmly, "Nice to meet you Craig."

Craig grabbed her hand and was surprised to feel her grip quite tight and challenging. He looked up from the handshake back up to her eyes, a deep almond brown. "Likewise. Welcome to Inverloch."

Helen gestured towards Leroy. "This is my son, Leroy." Leroy folded his arms tightly into his chest, not budging to get them out for a handshake or anything, his face retreating behind his hair. Helen interrupted the uneasiness, "Be patient with him. He's an emo."

"Mum! Goddamn it!" Leroy whined.

"See?" Helen smirked at Craig. Yep, he definitely liked this woman.

Craig licked his lips, "So, where you guys from?"

Regina was about to answer, but Helen got in first. "We're all originally from Bendigo. The city was overrun pretty quickly, but we managed to bunker down in Donald's house for a while. He's a farmer." Bendigo was a small city in the country, two hours north of Melbourne, a hub for farmers and country residents.

Craig glanced to his left as Donald strolled down to the back of the van, Craig giving him a nod as he stepped in beside him.

Helen continued on, "My son and I are friends of Reggie and Don. They took us in. What about you? You from around here?"

Craig gave his rehearsed answer. "No, I was a fruit picker staying in Frankston. I woke up really early in the morning and saw the news reports. I packed up and got out before everything erupted. I bumped into a couple of people on my way here, but they either died later or they tried to kill me. When I got here, the four guys running the place ran me out of town after kidnapping a girl who was with me. I came back for her, I killed the men, but I couldn't save her." Craig folded his arms, trying to appear reserved.

Helen moved to comfort him, but Regina beat him to it, enveloping him in another large hug. "Oh poor baby! You did all you could."

Donald tipped his cap, showing respect.

As Regina let him go, a tinge of a tear forming in her eye, Helen got down to business. "Well, now that we all know who we are, let's get down to business then. What's the situation here?"

Craig was ready and gave another rehearsed answer. "I took over the town about 3 months ago. The men here before me managed to round up most of the town's zombies and kill them in a pyre down the road. I haven't managed to clean it all up yet." The visitors all appeared shocked, except for Leroy who hid behind his hair. "I've done a gradual sweep of most of the homes here and cleaned them out. The last zombie I encountered was over two weeks ago, and it was a straggler that probably came from somewhere else. However, at the local school, I found the gymnasium, chock-full of zombies. It must be the school population. Parents and kids and staff. Fuckin' unbelievable."

Regina and Helen looked horrified.

"I barricaded the gym doors with trucks, so they're contained. They're not a problem. Otherwise, now the town is free and open. The supermarkets still have lots of unspoiled food and I also collected food from people's homes I raided and stockpiled them in there too. I estimated there was enough food to last me over 2 years, so with you guys, that brings it closer to 6 months of ready meals and canned food. Maybe more."

Regina and Helen went from horrified to relieved at the mention of food. Regina started clapping girlishly, her teeth shining in another gargantuan smile.

"There's plenty to see and do here. Electricity is still working so there's heaps of DVD's to watch, CD's to listen to… " Craig turned to Leroy, "Playstation and Xbox games to play." Leroy's demeanor didn't change. "Plenty of clothes and other supplies. No problems. Also, when it gets warmer, there's the beach down the road that way."

Regina brightened again, obviously overjoyed. 'Wow! Oh wow! This is amazing! What have you been doing all this time?"

"I hit the gym pretty hard, running, getting things organized. Cleaning up town, and rigging up the radio," he turned and looked at Helen, returning her gaze, "which brought you here."

Helen smiled and Craig turned to Donald, "Oh and there's plenty of guns and ammunition. The guys I took down had plenty of them."

Donald smiled, his face cracking somewhat. As Craig suspected, being a farmer, he knew how to handle a rifle and would want to know about firearms. He was probably a much better shot than Craig was.

Craig clapped his hands together, "And now that you're here…" he turned on the charm, "Let me show you to your new homes. I cleaned up some nice houses for you. You got mansions!"

The group, except Leroy again, seemed amazed and started laughing in surprise. Craig walked them down the street, Regina excitedly complementing Craig for all of his effort and for "saving us. Oh my God! I'm so excited".

Just down the street and around the corner slightly was a rather large block of land, subdivided into several rather large, clean and modern townhouses, surrounded by pebble-stone walkways and landscaped gardens, now looking a bit scrappy from inattention. Craig escorted them through their homes, Donald and Regina taking the front house, Helen and Leroy in the second, both of equal size. They were both double story, brick homes rendered white outside, painted white inside with pearl tiling and cream carpet. The houses looked spacious, the centerpiece being the ample living rooms and kitchens joined together in an open plan arrangement with stainless steel appliances and a gaping huge plasma TV parked in front of large leather couches. All very opulent given the current state of the world.

Craig had vacuumed and cleaned up the houses somewhat and stocked them with some food and spare clothes. Leroy checked out his bedroom apathetically and strolled in, closing the door behind him. The rest of them gathered in the front driveway.

Regina was still beaming at the prospect of such large and luxurious homes to live in, safe and secure.

"You've done a fine job, Craig. Very nice." Donald complemented respectfully. Regina was spaced out admiring the houses from the outside, commenting on how clean and expensive the spouting looked.

Helen also gave her thanks and admiration, "Yes, this is amazing Craig. I'm so thankful we heard your broadcast."

Craig smiled at her, "I'm glad you came. It's been a very lonely existence here without anybody. For all I knew, there was nobody besides me." Helen laid her hand on his shoulder quickly and smiled. "Well, I'll let you guys get comfortable. I'll get things ready for tonight. There's a nice bar restaurant down the road. I think it would be nice to sit down and have a nice dinner and fine wine."

Helen looked astonished, Donald just grinned. Regina heard something about wine and brought herself out of her trance, coming back down the pebble driveway in a run. "Did you say wine?"

"Yeah, along with plenty of food, there's plenty of wine, beer, spirits here too. The supermarkets, bottle shops and restaurants and pubs and bars. Nevermind what I've looted from people's homes. There's heaps! Especially the good stuff." Smiles all around again. "I'll come pick you up for dinner about 7. I'll go cook something up. See you later!" Craig waved as he began to stroll away down the driveway out into the street.

Dumbfounded, Regina, Donald and Helen talked amongst themselves about how happy they were going to be here.

XXXXXXXXXXX

Just after 7pm, Craig came back to the housing lot, knocked on their doors and they promptly met up in the driveway, ready to go. Although the mood was jovial, even Leroy seemed to feel upbeat and smiling, Craig wore his leather outfit and had the MP5 machine gun slung over his shoulder. The walk was uneventful in that regard. As he said previously, the last zombie he saw was over two weeks ago.

Craig noticed Helen was wearing a different top, lower cut and quite alluring, her cleavage popping up over the top slightly. She smiled back at him, Leroy somewhat embarrassed behind her, his hands in his pockets.

After only a few minutes down towards the beach, Craig ushered them into an upmarket looking restaurant called 'Albatross'. They were all instantly relieved to feel the warmth as the doors closed behind them, their eyes all looking for the log fire Craig had burning in the restaurant's fireplace in the centre. It was a fairly modern looking place, the white linen lay undisturbed over the twenty or so tables, black tiling on the floor shining regally, the white walls adorned with Greek themed sea-side landscapes, the lamps hanging down from the ceiling turned down a little low to set the cosy mood. Soft Spanish guitar music wafted through the warm air from the ceiling speakers.

Hamming it up, Craig grabbed a napkin and draped it over his forearm, pretending to be their waiter as he ushered them to a table next to the fireplace, already set and stocked with a jug of water. Everyone sat down, smiling and giggling at the role play and excited to see what happened next.

Craig was actually enjoying himself. "Ladies and gentlemen, apologies, but there is a set menu tonight. I got hold of a leg of lamb from the supermarket freezers which is currently roasting away in the oven. It will be accompanied by a variety of thawed frozen vegetables. I picked out the expensive brands, not the supermarket home brands." Everyone chuckled, even Leroy smiled as Helen patted his leg. "And I've got some fries in the oven as well. Now….. what will everyone like to drink?"

Donald decided to play along. "What's the most expensive stuff? Today's a special occasion!" Regina bubbled next to him, her ample bosoms bouncing and giggling as he giggled.

"Sir, we have Jack Daniel's premium label, Penfolds Shiraz Cabernet, T'Gallant Pinot Grigio and Pinot Noir, Crown lager, Smirnoff vodka…"

Donald waved his hand playfully, whisking the notion's away. "Whatever it is, we want it!"

"Yes, sir. And how will you be paying?"

"We won't!" Regina squeaked, sending everyone into a fit of giggles.

Craig saw Helen looking up at him admiringly, "Well, you all wait here. I'll bring out some bread and I'll go check on the roast."

Helen jumped up, "I'll come help."

Craig grinned, "Much appreciated."

Helen filed in behind Craig as he strolled over to the kitchen. "I want vodka!" Leroy yelled behind them. Helen simply flashed him her finger, not taking her eyes off Craig's arse in his leather pants, the outline of his buttocks a little obvious.

Craig turned as they approached the bar, a series of wine bottles stacked in the wall, various spirits and beers lined on shelves and in bar fridges. The fridge lights glowed softly. He grinned, returning her cheeky smile as she purred, "Alright, boss. Put me to work."

Acting smugly, Craig gestured to the bar, "Here's the bar, there's a waitresses plate. You can start serving drinks." He leaned in close to her, she leaned in too, "Work them for tips…" He joked.

Helen leaned in further, letting the neck of her top open a little to show off her cleavage, small moles littering her tanned skin. "Yes, sir." She replied sultrily.

Craig's lips seemed to go dry as he smiled and turned for the kitchen, taking a breath as he passed through the saloon-style swinging doors out of sight. Goddamn she was a stunner!

He checked the oven, pulling out the lamb roast and cutting into it to check the flesh's colour. Faint pink. Just right.

XXXXXXXXXXX

The meal and wine went down well. Very well indeed.

The food was unlike anything any of them had had in a long time. The roast was juicy and hot, the skin crackled and crunchy, the fries crunchy and hot, the various vegetables, potatoes, beans, cauliflower and peas and corn all juicy if a little soggy.

The primary focus of the conversation was a recap of everyone's history.

Donald and Regina met when they were in high school and stayed together, getting married when he was 22 and she was 17. He owned a cattle farm outside of Bendigo and was relatively successful. They had no children, sadly. Regina had a car accident when she was a young child with a nasty trauma to her abdomen, causing internal bleeding and scarring. She had to have a hysterectomy when she was only 12 to save her life and stop the bleeding.

Helen met a man as part of a casual fling and Leroy was the resulting unplanned child. The father ran off and left her alone as a single mother in Bendigo. It was a difficult existence, her family helping somewhat, but they resented Leroy for what he came from and Helen for her recklessness for letting it happen. Although Leroy grew up a relatively unhappy child, being bullied at school and being withdrawn, Helen was immensely proud of him and they share a relatively close bond given they have no one else but themselves to rely on. Helen had been working two jobs being a factory packer and a wheat farmer's assistant. Craig eyed her figure, logically concluding her toned figure was a product of her jobs. Somewhat like him when he picked fruit.

When the zombie plague struck, as she explained before, Helen and Leroy sought refuge with Donald and Regina, whom they knew indirectly. They stayed in that house, butchering Donald's cattle in the night for food, until they heard Craig's radio message and packed up and left in the night. As far as they knew, they were the only survivors. It was likely the fact that they chose to bunker down and hide instead of try and take the fight to the zombie's as many did, especially the men, that helped ensure their survival.

Craig ran through his story. He started from when he was staying in a cheap hotel in Frankston when he heard the news reports and packed and left. He got what he could from the supermarket before being attacked and speeding off down the coast. He met a girl, Julia, but she was killed when the house they stayed in was attacked (which was technically true). Later he drove further and bunkered down with Greg and Glenda and their kids. A zombie attack ended that when they broke in and killed everyone but Katey and himself. Fleeing into town, the four men under the leadership of Gordon kidnapped Katey and ran him out of town. He came back later, killed them, but could not save Katey who died in the fire fight. He was surprised how little he had to bend the truth and how convincing his story was.

As Craig went further into how he had kept himself busy, upon the mention of the gym, Helen insisted he remove his jacket and pose for them, to show off his muscles. Everyone was quite drunk, including Leroy, and they all bayed at him to show off. He did so, his bicep and tricep muscles bulging under his black T-shirt to the wolf-whistles of Regina (who received a prompt elbow in the ribs from Donald playfully) and Helen, Leroy looking unperturbed at her enthusiastic 'woo hoo's'.

Finally Leroy started talking. He had been near silent all night, but the wine and vodka seemed to relax him and bring him out of his shell. He was talking about how he had been writing a diary of their ordeal and had been drawing. The zombie plague had given him a burst of creativity which he had hidden during school away from bullies and uncaring teachers.

As he spoke, enthralling Regina and Donald, Craig felt a soft touch against his shin, creeping up to his knee. He looked over at Helen who had a chip in her fingers, her tongue licking the chip's end sexily when no one was looking staring him right in the eyes. Craig swallowed as her socked foot crept further along his leg, her big toe finding the tip of his erection in his pants. She popped the chip in her mouth and flashed him a smile as she deftly massaged it with her toes. Craig simply grinned at her as she reached for her glass of wine and winked at him.

Craig also grabbed his half-empty glass of red wine and almost sculled the contents, the acid of the shiraz slightly burning his throat.


	20. A Good Time

"'_Cause the walls were shaking, the Earth was quaking, my mind was aching, and we were making it and you shook me all night long" – You Shook Me All Night Long / AC/DC_

**Chapter 21: A Good Time**

Craig gently placed his empty wine glass back down on the table. "Alright everyone!" They stopped talking and looked to him. 'Dessert time."

Everyone looked at him, incredulous, Regina squealed, 'Dessert?!!?! You have _dessert_?"

Craig simply smiled back at her. "Yep." I've gotta go serve it up. It's sitting in the fridge." He rose to go to the kitchen, fully expecting what happened next.

Helen again rose with him, "I'll help."

Craig grinned back at her, "Helen, you're such a kind lass. Much appreciated."

Regina started laughing, quite drunk and snorted as she breathed in, causing her to laugh louder in a stupor. Leroy and Donald started talking animatedly about something, pouring more vodka and red wine.

Craig hurriedly turned for the kitchen, Helen sidling up next to him as he escorted her behind the kitchen double doors. As soon as they cleared the doors, Helen giggling, they each turned to each other, grabbing each other arms and kissed roughly. Craig was breathing hard, his nostrils seemed so tight and restrictive as he tried to force air into his lungs as her tongue darted into his mouth, rubbing around against his tongue and lips dirtily.

Helen wrestled her right arm free from his grip, pushed him against a turned-off stove, the steel plating jutting into Craig's buttocks, and ran her hand across his chest and stomach. She could feel his hard and muscled stomach, his pectorals muscles shaping prominently through his black T-shirt. She flicked his right nipple, causing him to stifle a moan.

"Oh fuck!" he whispered.

"You like that, baby?" She whispered back.

"Oh God!" he whispered again, trying not to moan, his brow bunching up tightly as she quickly shoved her hand into the crotch of his leather pants, roughly squeezing and massaging his large erection.

Her face hovered right in front of him, flinching back teasingly as he tried to kiss her, her hand still squeezing his erection, rubbing his balls. "Do you want me?"

"What the fuck do you think?!" he growled back. His balls were aching.

She grinned and bit her lip as she released her hand from his crotch and rested her other hand on his chest. She softly whispered, "Later. Not here."

Craig seemed to reluctantly return to planet Earth as he remembered the others waiting outside. "Dessert." He whispered hoarsely.

Helen sucked on her finger, smacking her lips lightly as she pulled it back out again. 'That's right."

Craig tried to move his eyes away from her to find the fridge, but he couldn't. He couldn't look away from her deep almond eyes, her pouting lips and black hair dangling sexily across her face, adding some mystery. He couldn't look away from her athletic figure, her breasts heaving, threatening to pop out from her top. "Yeah… uh right." He moved for the fridge, wriggling out of the way as Helen simply stood by the stove.

He reached the fridge handle and pulled the door open, revealing a selection of ice-cream cones packed in boxes and a selection of expensive looking chocolates. She smiled devilishly, "You are just full of surprises, aren't you?"

"I please to aim." He stammered, he flinched and closed his eyes tightly at how goofy he sounded. Helen simply giggled at him and began chewing her little fingernail watching Craig's buttocks as he bent down and collected the desserts on a plate.

They returned back to the table to the drunken cheers of the seated guests. Regina was quick to snatch a Cornetto, double chocolate flavour and Donald stopped and perused, finally choosing a plain vanilla one. Leroy also grabbed a double chocolate one and eagerly started unwrapping it in his unsteady hands.

Craig and Helen both reached out and grabbed a Boysenberry Choc-top at the same time. Helen playfully jabbed Craig in the waist and he let go. He was stuck with the remaining white chocolate choc-top and started mowing into it.

Leroy and Donald promptly made a mess with their desserts, too drunk to eat them properly sending a mess of crumbs and chocolate pieces on the table and down themselves. They didn't care, grabbing their full shot glasses and saluting, downing their shots and getting back to their ice-cream. Regina also grabbed a shot of vodka, but her unsteady hand promptly knocked it over, sending the vodka shot spilling into the table cloth, absorbing quickly into the linen. The table erupted in laughter, drunk and stupid.

Helen teasingly offered Craig a bite of her choc-top, shoving it into his face as he leaned it for a bite. Regina started squealing and Leroy almost fell out of his chair reaching for the ice cream as it started to slop down onto the table.

Craig sheepishly wiped his face clean and playfully threatened Helen, "I'll get you for that, missy." as she downed a shot of vodka. She raised her hand up next to her cheek to hide her face from the others as she licked her lips and wiggled her tongue at him, sluttishly. Craig's erection felt like it was going to explode.

The night wore on and more alcohol was consumed and spilled onto the floor well into the night. Craig consciously held back, as did Helen, as they strained to wait for the night to end and the others to go home. Donald started it off when he looked at his watch, "Fuck everyone! It's 1:32 no 1:33 am! Bedtime!"

Regina booed him, but her face broke out into an overly done smile when he whispered loudly, "No, no not for sleeping…." She started laughing, cackling and almost pushed him out of his chair.

Leroy looked at his mum and gave her a small nod, which Craig did not miss. "I'll get into bed too. I'm fucked. Man! That was a great party Craig." He leaned over to shake his hand, which Craig gripped hard to steady him more than return the handshake.

"Hear fuckin' hear!" Regina screamed at the top of her lungs.

Gradually, Donald, Regina and Leroy stumbled towards the door and outside, on their way home, oblivious to any threat of zombies. None came anyway.

As the group of three rounded the corner, yelling and singing badly, Helen turned to Craig, catching his full attention. "Well, do you want to take me home to your place?"

Craig grinned and held his arm out, letting Helen interlock her arm around it as he guided her out of the front doors into the street, but turning left instead of right. "I've got a special place. I think you'll like it."

"Ooooh. I like surprises." She cooed and leaned up and started licking his ear lobe. Feeling himself wanting her again, he quickened his pace, trying to return a kiss as they walked awkwardly down the street, a soft but very cold breeze reminding them to get inside somewhere. The sound of the waves from the beach wafted in from behind the tree line in the distance.

Craig stopped and guided her down a posh looking street. The houses here were very large, oak trees lined the pavement creating an avenue of leaves over the road. It was obvious that this was a rich street. 'Wow. Where are you taking me, baby?"

"Just you wait, we're almost there. I think you'll like it. It's my bachelor pad." He grinned as she giggled back, excited.

"You know what Craig? Nobody's fucked me since… hang on….. like 3 years ago. And even then he was shit." Craig had to grip her arm as she lost her footing slightly in her small heeled shoes.

Craig leaned in to her ear and whispered, "Well, I plan to give you a good fucking tonight, don't you worry." She looked back up to him and smiled devilishly.

"I like the sound of that Craig." Her tongue licking her lips.

He sharply pulled her left down a driveway, a squeal escaping her lips as he pulled her across him and lifted her up, cradling her in her arms as she struggled. Realising what he was doing, she relaxed in his sure hands and rested her arms around the back of his neck, staring at the gargantuan house before them.

It was hard to make out on the gloom of the moonlight and soft glow of the street lights, but the house was a modern designed concrete block style house with a series of glass paneled balconies and a series of chiseled boulders and stones leading up to a slightly ajar black front door.

Helen was overcome as she tried to take in the dimensions of the house, craning her neck as they approached the front door looking up at a balcony 3 floors above them. "Fuck me!" she exclaimed.

"Oh, I intend to." Craig joked as he nudged the front door open with his foot. "Hit that light switch." He said, nodding over to a shining silver panel with a large switch on it, which she strained over and pressed, the front room suddenly lighting up.

Craig kicked the door closed behind him as Helen giggled, looking over the massive front room connecting to a large lounge of expensive looking couches. Very expensive couches with a huge plasma TV surrounded by expensive looking speakers (Bang and Olufsen) and a very large and stylish stereo. It was only when Craig set her down on her feet and stepped to turn the CD player on that she noticed it was warm, the heaters were on and ready for them.

Helen turned as Craig pressed a button on the stereo, a soft Crowded House tune wafted from the speakers, the bass emanating through the sub-woofer seemed to make Helen's clitoris tingle from the subtle vibrations.

Craig stepped forward, his face only inches from hers.

Helen, overcome by the moment, reached up and cupped the back of his head, guiding him down for a kiss, softer compared to back at the kitchen. Gently and soft at first, Helen started pressing into him, eager and ready, she ran her hands over his chest, clutching and squeezing his muscled physique through his T-shirt. Craig responded, gently grabbing her breasts, pushing them up and making them bulge up out of her top, massaging her hardening nipples.

That seemed to flick a switch inside her as she groaned and grabbed for the bottom of his T-shirt and belt. "Oh God! I want your cock!" she growled.

Obliging, he ripped his jacket off and his T-shirt up and over his head and started unbuckling his belt. Helen backed off him, and pulled her top up and over her head too, revealing her breasts, slightly wrinkled and sagged, bulging in a push-up bra. She removed her pants, kicking off her shoes as he struggled to untie his boots.

On his knees and fumbling with his boots, he finally undid them and pulled them off as she stood before him, her pussy right up and touching his nose. He looked up and saw her longing eyes gazing down at him, her shoulders rising and falling in a heaving rhythm as her breath quickened, still wearing her bra.

The music from the stereo was the only sound, the crisp guitar accompanied by a layer of silken bass, Neil Finn's smooth voice permeating through, "Four seasons in one day. Lying in the depths of your imagination.."

Craig quickly grabbed around her, pulling her up and cradling her in his arms, her vagina right in his face, her legs hanging over his shoulders, his arms cradling her back in the air in front of him, her hair draping down towards the floor.

Before she knew what was happening, her eyes rolled into the back of head as Craig started darting his tongue inside her, "Oh God! Oh God!" she was almost screaming already. Craig could feel his arms starting to strain a little and was a little thankful when she grabbed his head, pushing him back. "Stop! You'll make me cum too soon!"

He carefully put her down, draping her body down on a soft leather couch as he stood before her and lowered his pants down. He proudly stood before her, showing off his chiseled body as his penis poked out into the air, pointing at her, throbbing slightly.

"Give me that." She growled, parting her legs, lifting one leg up and resting it on the headrest of the couch, letting him see everything. She didn't care about whatever wrinkles and sags she had. She didn't care.

"Do I need a condom?" he quickly asked, hating to spoil the mood.

"I'm on the pill! Just fuck me!" She growled angrily at him. The response, seeming so implausible, caught him off guard as he stepped forward and leaned down on top of her.

Carefully guiding himself in, they both moaned as their rhythm started, Craig pumping down into her, Helen using her legs and arms to angle her body back up onto him, grinding as he pumped down.

It wasn't long before they were both moaning loudly, the moment coming soon, Craig could feel Helen's body tense. "Oh God! OH GOD! OH FUUUUUUUUUCK!" she screamed as her body clutched up and spasmed, her eyes rolling back into her head her mouth open and straining as she struggled for breath.

He waited a moment as she relaxed, collapsing down in a heaving heap on the couch. "Oh god Craig…" she whimpered….. "You aren't done yet….. Keep going, baby."

They managed to keep going for another hour before they were both spent and collapsed in a heap, naked and exhausted.


	21. Secrets and Broken Armour

"_If I'm smart then I'll run away, but I'm not so I guess I'll stay. Haven't you heard? I fell in love with a beautiful stranger." – Beautiful Stranger / Madonna_

**Chapter 22: Secrets and Broken Armour**

Helen woke, she felt so hot, she was sweating and her body felt very stiff. She tensed her arm and pushed herself up, trying to sit up and remember where she was and what happened. Her head pulsed with a mild headache.

She felt him, his arm underneath her hand, flinching slightly as she pushed down onto it to sit up.

She steadied herself and sat up, blinking slowly and looking around the room and adjusting her eyes to the faint morning light trickling in through some curtains. She remembered, she was on the floor, on a mattress of some sort, the coffee table next to her, the plasma TV poking out over the view over the little glass table, the leather couch over on the other side, next to Craig as he slept, snoring slightly. Now she remembered.

Lots of hot sex last night with Craig and now I'm waking up with a hangover, she thought.

All these details suddenly vanished from her attention as she realized she was busting badly. She threw the sheet off herself, realizing she was naked as the cool air sharply caressed her moist sweaty skin, and stood up, the floorboards beneath the carpet creaking a little under her feet.

Tip-toeing lightly, she looked down and almost giggled as she saw the sheet just cover Craig above the pelvis as he lay naked on his back, his arms splayed out and his mouth open and dribbling a little as he snored quietly. He had a 'morning glory' erection beneath the sheet. It was a sight she hadn't seen in a long time as a single mother.

Her reflexes in her pelvis clutched up as she remembered she was busting and she crept off, her smile remaining on her lips as she quickly explored the hallway passed the kitchen and found the pearly white throne in the opulent and shiny bathroom. The relief a pleasure in itself.

XXXXXXXX

Snort!

Craig woke up with a start, his hands darting in front of him and his vision blurry and his mind confused. Where am I? he thought.

Couch, carpet, coffee table, floor, staring up at the ceiling.

Oh, that's right. Lots of hot sex last night with Helen and now I'm waking up, he mused to himself, with a slight headache and a woody, glancing down at the pitched tent before him.

Before he started to wonder where she was, he heard a shower stop running and he grabbed the couch cushion, the leather soft, but cool in his hand as he pulled himself up. His body was hot, but his skin felt cold as he stood naked in the middle of the lounge room, waiting patiently for the blood to pump up into his head as pink, blue and green flashes assaulted his eyes and he felt a little light headed.

The disorientation soon faded as he walked slowly down over the mattress towards where he heard the shower, down a dark hallway passed the kitchen. He was busting he realized, his body seemingly taking him down the hallway towards the bathroom before he consciously realized what he was doing.

He soon found the bathroom door, light streaming through from under the door, and he opened it to see Helen, her body wrapped in a plush white towel and staring back at him, a smirk across her face. Her hair cascading wet and clinging across her face, her skin radiating a tanned brown under the golden bathroom light.

"Good morning." She remarked, stepping towards him and looking down at his still erect penis. Craig stood still, smiling back at her as she stepped up to him and reached down for his cock. She smiled dirtily as she gently grabbed it in her hand and gave it a soft squeeze, "And good morning to you too." She giggled.

"Good morning, baby." He replied happily, choosing to let her fondle him even though he felt he was going to explode. "OK, alright. I'm busting. Let me go."

She pulled her hand away, letting her fingers lightly slide up his shaft, teasing him. "Meet you in the kitchen." She purred and stepped around him back out into the hallway.

Craig wasted no time as he relieved himself and then climbed into the shower, the water warm and relaxing.

Later, he stepped out into the hallway, a towel wrapped around his abdomen. The house was warm. She must have turned the heating back on, he supposed. He stepped back out into the loungeroom, passed the kitchen and smiled at the sight of Helen, still wrapped in her towel, her hair dried and a little fuzzy as it draped all around her head and face, sitting at the dining table eating some cereal. She smiled back as she chewed and gestured to a rather large bowl waiting for him across from her.

"You read my mind." he said, eyeing the bowl hungrily as he strolled across the room towards her.

"Trust me, babe. I know what you want." She smirked as she swallowed down a mouthful. She eyed him up and down, paying particular attention to his chiseled stomach and broad shoulders as he walked towards her. "Looking good." She complimented.

"You too." He replied, glancing over some cleavage hinting over the top of her towel, her legs firm and smooth, snaking down to the floor as the towel barely covered the top of her thighs and hips as he sat down to his breakfast. Corn Flakes in long life milk. It does the job, he thought. He grabbed his spoon and started eating quickly. He was starving.

Helen watched him as he shoved his breakfast away hurriedly, like a starving animal. "Hungry?"

"Mmm hmm." He hummed through his full mouth. He finished chewing and swallowed. "Starving. Hangover's not too bad. How about you?"

"Not too bad either. I've definitely had worse." She mumbled, getting back to her cereal, which was almost finished.

"I've definitely had worse nights than last night." he managed to say through his full mouth. "It's been a long time for me."

She regarded him, smiling warmly, her brown eyes shimmering slightly under the overhead lights. "Yeah, same." She swallowed the last of her milk and cereal crumbs. "I've missed it…… I'm glad I've met you."

Craig smiled back as he started to get to the last of cereal. He started feeling much better as the weight of his breakfast started to fill his stomach, satisfying him. "Hey…. What was life like for you, bringing Leroy up on your own?" Craig didn't ask the question to win trust. This woman intrigued him, he genuinely wanted to know.

The question caught her by surprise at first, but she then leaned forward and clutched her hands together before her, her elbows resting on the cool pine wood table. "Really hard. Even though Leroy's the most important thing for me, I had to go without for a long time. It was difficult to find the time to enjoy myself, y'know? To have some time for me. But he's worth it. I had to work a lot of different jobs, scraping together enough money, that sort of thing, to get by for us, and he was a shit sometimes when he was a teenager. Well, actually he was a shit the whole time…." She chuckled lightly at the notion, licking her teeth as she reflected back. "y'know I don't actually know that much about you. You didn't talk much about your past last night at dinner. What's your story?"

He hesitated at first, trying to think up something to say…. Fuck it, he thought. He laid his spoon down into his near empty bowl and inhaled deeply, collecting his thoughts.

"I used to have a family, a wife and 3 kids. I used to run a store selling electricals, printers, faxes, phones that sort of thing. Things were good for a while. Kathy and I loved each other, the kids were happy, they were only small at the time, like 8, 10 years ago now and the store did pretty well. I was my own boss and things were pretty good.

Helen leaned back in her chair, tucking her legs into her, onto the chair as she got comfortable, giving him her full attention.

"But then a department store chain opened up across the road with a big electrical store, selling the same stuff, plus more for cheaper. I couldn't compete. I tried and the store struggled on for 4 years, but it was losing money. I think that was the beginning for me."

"What do you mean?" she asked.

"The beginning of when everything starting fucking up for me. I worked a lot at the store and wasn't home much. I suppose I took it out on Kathy. I was angry. I never hit her or anything, I just…. didn't treat her right, I s'pose. I…. I didn't give the kids much attention either come to think of it."

His stomach started clenching slightly and he drifted back, remembering.

"I'm pretty good at being a Dad, I think, but I wasn't back then, I think. All I could think about was the store and how we were gonna make ends meet. It stressed me out a lot. Another thing I did wrong was that I started playing poker to try and make up the store's losses, but I got hooked. I was playing local guys and they always managed to take more than I could win. I remember getting a sweet hand, a King and an Ace, both hearts, the flop came down and it was a Jack, ten and a Queen, different suits, so I was looking at a straight. I thought no worries, I've won this and started betting, not too much, I had to lure the other guys in and they took the bait. The next card was another Queen, clubs and I kept betting. All but one guy folded and he called me.

Then the last card came down and it was a 2. A nothing card.

I went all in, over $10,000 dollars and he called me. I showed my cards, confident as hell, y'know, and I thought I'd won. But he showed a pair Queens. Four of a kind Queens. He beat me.

It's funny, they say that poker players, no matter how much they win, even really big wins, always remember the times down to the detail of when they lost big. I do. I'll never forget that night I got beaten bad. I had bet everything I had, plus some money from a loan shark and I was in serious trouble. I was broke. Worse than broke. I owed.

I was dead unless I could find some money to pay that shark back. He was a bastard, he would have come and killed me and taken Kathy and sold her off to a pimp. I couldn't let that happen."

Helen started tearing up, but continued staring at him, listening.

"So, I tried to rob a bank. I was so fucking dumb. I got a gun and ran in and waved it around and all that sort of thing, like you see in the movies and on TV, but a security guard tackled me and I was caught. The judge sentenced me to 5 years in prison at Barwon, 2 year minimum. I got out on the minimum, but it was fuckin' hell in there.

One of the inmates in there, he ran the place and he knew the shark I owed money too. So I was targeted. I remember my first night, the guy in the cell next to me warned me, I was gonna be raped in the showers tomorrow."

"Oh god!" Helen choked, tears starting to stream down her face.

Seeing Helen break up made him feel uncomfortable, but it felt good to tell someone. He never had before.

"They got me. I screamed for the guards, but they didn't listen. They held me down and made me…. made me….." He could feel himself losing control. He face was suddenly feeling hot and tight. He couldn't breath. "They fuckin'….. they…… Two year of that shit! TWO FUCKIN' YEARS!" He was shouting and shot out of his chair, Helen nearly fell back onto the floor as she scrambled away from him. He started punching into the table, the chairs and cereal bowl flying across the carpet and crashing down onto the floor and couch behind him.

"Craig!"

"NO! It's not fuckin' fair!" he screamed, clutching his shaking hands over his eyes.

Helen rushed right up to him from up off the floor, unconcerned as her towel dropped off her and she grabbed his forearms, trying to prise them away. "Craig! It's OK."

"No, it's, nuh-not!"

He struggled, but she held firm and shoved his arms open and stared at him right in the eyes. "It's OK…. It's OK….." she said softly, repeating rhythmically, chanting over and over as she stared at him, his face relaxing, calming down a little. "It's ok."

He gathered himself, snorting air as he choke between the tears, "It's not OK… huh-Helen. You don't wanna know me. I-I done bad things."

"It's OK, it ok. We've all done things we regret. Things we wish we could have taken back." She whispered.

Craig angled his hands down and grabbed her forearms in a vice-like grip and pulled them down by her sides, staring right back down at her as he calmed his breathing and swallowed. "You shouldn't know me. I'm not a good person."

"Craig…" She pleaded, but was stunned as he shoved her back against the couch and ran to the front door disappearing outside and away, into the morning cold, still only wearing his towel.

"CRAIG!" she shouted, running for the front door, the freezing cold morning air shocking her skin as she peered through the threshold outside, but she couldn't see him.

XXXXXXXX

She found some warm clothes and set out after him. She ran back down the street, stopping at the end and looking around, seeing nothing but more houses and bare trees swaying in the wind, sand blowing up from the beach further down behind the treeline.

She ran across the road towards the trees and down a path to the beach. The sand trickled into the sneakers she wore, a touch too big for her, and she ran clumsily down the sandy stairs as the beach opened up before her. The surf pounded down onto the shore and seagulls squawking overhead.

She looked to her left, down the beach and saw Craig's lone figure, standing at the edge of the surf, the water gently washing over his feet as he stood frozen and looking out ahead into the horizon.

She took her shoes off and cautiously walked down towards him, the sand cool underfoot and massaging her soles. He still stood, unmoving as she eventually approached him and stood behind, the cold of the surf spray numbing her feet.

"Craig…" she said softly, uncertain if Craig heard her over the waves.

"Craig, I know what it's like….." she clutched her arms to her chest. "I had no boyfriend. I have no idea who Leroy's father is…… I was raped……."

He turned his head slightly towards her, the admission bringing him out of his trance.

She continued. "It was really hard. My Mum and Dad thought it was my fault and I never knew when I walked down the street whether the man who raped me might have been walking right beside me, or been the guy at the supermarket, or the man who fixed my car. I didn't trust anyone. I couldn't. I was scared."

He turned and faced her, his face blotchy and wet, a mixture of tears and surf spray.

"I haven't met anyone who ever treated me with respect or…… no on wanted me. I've been alone for a long time. Just me and Leroy…. I love him more than anything, but it's really hard….. I don't even know who his father is."

She was stunned as Craig stumbled forwards and wrapped his arms around her suddenly, clutching her tight. She hugged him back, she could feel his skin, ice cold. "Craig, honey, you're so cold….. come back inside with me…. it's warm."

'You need someone better than me." he said flatly. "When this whole thing started, I killed people, I…… did things no one should do to their worst enemy. The world fucked me and kicked me when I was down and I took it out on the people I came across when this whole thing started…… I can't apologise to them 'cause their all dead. You can't know me. I can't control this. I'm a bad man."

"Hey. I remember you last night, back in the restaurant. You were a gentleman. You were a nice man. You were polite and funny and happy. You….. you're the first good man I've muh-met in a l-long time." She choked through her tears as she hugged him back, secure in Craig's grip. "It's been a long time s-since, a-anyb-body have muh-made me feel special."

"Helen, what do I do?" his eyes pleading down to her.

"Stay with m-me…." She pleaded. She could feel his body begin to relax slowly in her arms. "C'mon…. Let's go inside…" as she carefully guided him back up the beach.


	22. A New Start

"_I talk talk talk, I talk to you." Another Night / Real McCoy_

**Chapter 23: New start**

Finally they returned to the house and stepped back inside. Craig was shaking and freezing cold, his lips and skin turning pale. The winter air was ice cold outside and his skin, wet from the surf spray, did nothing to help matters.

Reassuring him the whole time, Helen guided him inside and led him to the bathroom, where she turned the shower back on and got the water running again, nice and warm.

Scared at first, as though he was a child stepping into a shower for the first time, he stepped into the large cubicle and flinched as the water cascaded down onto him, the water droplets feeling like fire hot against his ice cold skin.

She disrobed as he started to relax under the water and stepped in with him, hugging him from behind as the water softened her hair as it draped over his shoulder.

"Then what happened?" She asked softly.

"Huh?"

"What happened to you after that?" she asked again, turning him around so she held him in a face-to-face hug.

He stared gazed down at her, watching the water dribble down her face and hair, thinking he'd never seen someone so beautiful before now. With a sigh, he collected his thoughts spoke calmly, no anger rising inside him this time. "That time in the shower was only first of many more and beatings. You see this?" He opened his mouth and angled his head up to let her see his top teeth. She frowned as she gazed up and saw two gaps where molars were supposed to be.

"Christ!" she gasped.

"Yeah, I lost them to fights. They were usually 4 or more to just me, so I had no hope of defending myself. I've had all sorts of injuries, punctured lung, fractured ribs, internal bleeding …. That was the only good thing about getting beaten up. I would get put in the hospital wing where they couldn't get to me. I could get some peace there.

I managed to struggle on and finally my time was up. It was one of the happiest times of my life. I was free, but it didn't last for long. Every time I tried to go to sleep, I went back there. I couldn't hold a proper job and I drank a lot. I got fat and barely had enough money to get by. Kathy had divorced me when I was in prison too. She took everything she could, including the house which her parents helped her to pay off. She took the kids too. They didn't make any effort really to contact me when I was inside."

"Oh baby." She said softly as she laid her head into his chest, the water raining down on her head like a massage as she listened to his heartbeat. Rivers of shower water mixing with her tears as they fell down her body and disappeared down the drain.

"I tried to make some contact with them when I got out, but Kathy did her best to stop me. The kids didn't really care. They didn't know me anymore. I gave up on them. I fell into a really deep depression. I was still in it when this whole zombie thing happened. I tried to commit suicide on the night before the outbreaks started. I put a gun to my head, but I forgot to flick the safety off and the gun didn't fire."

"Craig, oh Craig….. It's OK. You don't have to say anymore…" she cried, but he continued on. He regained feeling in his hands and feet which were now aching and painful, but the water felt good…. Like it was washing him.

They stayed there, hugging under the water for a long time, saying nothing as they both thought about what this meant for them and what they would do next in this world.

XXXXXXXXX

"Hey mate. How'sa goin'?" he yelled as they walked back up towards the townhouses where Leroy, Donald and Regina were staying. Leroy was walking down the driveway towards them, looking cheerful.

"I'm alright, Craig!" Leroy yelled back, waving. "Had a good sleep in after last night. Fuckin' crashed. How did you guys go last night?"

The question was loaded and was intended to make them feel uncomfortable, but Leroy was caught momentarily by the calm and happy look on his mum's face. Her smile was brighter than he had seen before…. No he had seen that smile before when she was proud of him, once when he was a teenager and he had won an art competition at school.

Something had changed in her, he could see. He smiled back.

"Never you mind…" she replied cheekily, arm in arm with Craig as he smiled back. "What are you up to?"

He put his hands in his pockets, eager to get them out of the cold. "I dunno, I was gonna explore today. See what's in town."

Helen looked up at Craig who returned her gaze, "Hey, you spend some time with him today. It's OK."

"Sure?" he checked.

"Yeah." She replied, sighing happily.

He turned back to Leroy, who had walked right up to them and was standing just before him and said, "Hey, let's check in at the music store. I'm sure I saw the new Avenged Threefold CD there."

Leroy chuckled, "Sevenfold. Alright let's go."

"Hang on, I'll get my kit. Always have to be armed just in case." He turned and kissed Helen who kissed right back, ignoring the slightly uncomfortable Leroy as he watched on.

"You boys behave. Look after him." She said, giving Craig a fairly serious stare before she smiled again and gave Leroy a hug. "I love you, honey." She whispered into his ear.

"I love you too." He said back ,slightly confused as he detected something more than a simple casual hug as she walked up the driveway.

He turned back to Craig who smiled warmly, "You ready?"

"Yeah."

They walked side by side back towards the disposal store where Craig kept his own arsenal of guns. Leroy was visibly uncomfortable as he watched Craig handle and load a handgun and tuck it into the small of his back and cover it over with his leather jacket.

They walked into town, Craig mainly talking about what he had been doing on his own for the last three months, making sure to walk around and away from the pile still rotting away in the centre of town as they headed for the music store.

Although Leroy was glad to see his mother smile before in Craig's arms, he felt uncomfortable. "Hey, Craig."

Craig turned and looked over at him as he stood in the World music aisle, Leroy standing before the Heavy metal section on the other side in the next aisle, facing him in the dark store. "Yeah."

"Be careful with my mum." His demeanour was uncomfortable and his look very serious, but nervous.

Craig put back a CD he had been idly looking over and spoke honestly, "You're mum's an amazing woman. I've never met anyone like her."

Leroy started getting agitated, "Look, I know you don't wanna hear anything like this from me, but it's OK if you and my mum are goin' at it. That's fine with me, but don't break her heart."

Craig rested his hands on the neatly stacked and racked CD's before him and stared at Leroy intently, causing him to step back involuntarily. "Look, I know you've grown up hard. You guys had things difficult, and you grew up without a Dad. I'm not intending to be your new Dad and all that sort of thing, but she's not simply just a fuck to me." Craig's honesty took Leroy off guard.

"Your Mum, Helen, helped me see something….. new about me. I've had a rough past as well. She…. She helped me talk about it. I've never talked about it to anyone before."

Neither of them spoke as an uncomfortable silence descended through the store. Craig broke the silence, "Hey, Helen says you're emo. What's that on about anyway? I don't get it."

Leroy gave Craig a condescending look, but with some good humour. "According to people who like to give labels, it stands for 'emotional'. Emo's listen to punk type music where the singer just whinges about life being too hard. Emo's are skinny white people with dyed black hair cut in a long fringe that covers half their face, they where obscenely tight jeans and cut themselves."

"'the fuck?" Craig was completely confused. "So… what, is your mum joking or what?"

"Yeah, she is, but I'm not a normal kid either. I hated school. I had no friends. They all thought I was weird. I got bullied a lot. I hated it." Craig could see Leroy retreating within himself.

"A word of advice. I know what bullying is like. I was in jail for a couple of years a long time ago. I'll tell you, the 'bullying' I got in there would have made your school seem like a picnic by comparison. But anyway, that's not the point. The point is, you've lived through it. Also, all of the people you ever hated are dead now. This is a chance to start over." Craig was surprised at the mushy words he was saying.

Leroy smirked underneath his hood. "You were in jail? Why?"

Craig walked down the aisle towards another music section, Pop. "I lost a lot of money in a poker game. I owed money to a loan shark who would have killed my family if I didn't pay him back. I tried to rob a bank. Didn't do very well. Was stupid."

"Shit! Really?" Leroy exclaimed, surprised.

"Yeah, some of the guys in jail with me knew him and they arranged to make my life hell. 2 years before I finally got out, but I sunk into depression, drinking a lot. Bad. But, now, I figure I can start over and do things right. Besides, all the people who ever……. wronged me I figure are now all dead and got what they deserved."

Leroy seemed to sink deep into thought.

"Hey, Leroy. What are you good at? What do you like to do?" Craig asked.

Leroy stumbled through his reply, "Well… um I'm OK at art I guess. Writing. Why?"

Craig had an idea, "Art, huh? Come with me. I've got an idea."

Craig led him out of the store and down the road to the hardware centre. They walked up and down the aisles until they found the spray cans Craig remembered seeing once.

"Leroy, paint the town. Go nuts. Remember, there is no one here to put you down or tell you you can't." Leroy smiled from ear to ear at the prospect.

XXXXXXX

The day crept on and Craig and Leroy eventually came back to the townhouses. Donald and Regina were still inside, and looked as though they had both woken up when Craig knocked on their door. Going by Donald's cheeky grin and messy hair, it was obvious he and Regina were spending the day in bed and Craig left them to it.

Leroy went inside to fetch Helen and spent the rest of the night in his room, sketching out designs for the graffiti he would paint tomorrow.

Craig offered to take Helen for a walk along the beach which she readily accepted.

Both of them listened to the waves as Craig recounted his day with Leroy, warming Helen's heart at the prospect Leroy now had someone besides herself to talk to and trust. They walked all the way down the beach, reaching a rocky cliff side and turned back, eventually coming back to where they started, talking and laughing the whole time.

"Craig, I've been thinking about this morning." She said, stopping Craig in his tracks as he turned to face her. "I don't want you to tell me whatever things you may have done. I want you to be the person you are now."

"Deal. I can do that." He replied, comfortable and relaxed. "Hey, you wanna catch a movie with me?"

"A movie?"

"Yeah, back at my pad. There's some DVD's there. We can get comfy on the couch."

"Sounds good to me." she replied, hugging him.

They continued talking and headed together down the oak tree street towards the house from last night. Helen yelped as he picked her up again in his arms and carried her inside, laying her down on the couch. He turned the heater on and heated up a couple of Asian ready meals in the microwave. They ate their meals on the couch, as Craig talked her through how he had seen on the TV back at Greg and Glenda's house about the political fallout from the zombie plague.

Helen joked about what may have happened to various celebrities around the world, whether they had been taken to some bunker somewhere or whether Brad Pitt was a zombie walking around somewhere, George Clooney too.

Their dinner finished, Craig let Helen choose a movie. Helen bent down on all fours as she flicked through the DVD's on the floor. Craig watched her bum in the air through her tight fitting jeans and was immediately turned on. Seizing the moment, he kneeled down behind her and slapped her on the bum.

"Hey!" she yelped and quickly got the idea as she felt Craig's bulging erection poke between her legs. "Hey…." She purred.

XXXXXXXXXX

Out in the night on the edge of town, 3 men looked down on Inverloch through binoculars on a small hilltop.

"Alright, let's move out." One of them whispered as they headed down towards the sleepy town, invisible in the dark night, not making a sound as they crept through the tall grass.


	23. Prisoners

"_Dirty, babe. Uh huh. You see these shackles, baby, I'm your slave. Uh huh. I'll let you whip me if I misbehave." Sexyback / Justin Timberlake_

**Chapter 24: Prisoners**

Craig walked down the street arm in arm with Helen on the cold winter morning, many hours before the sun would rise. His crotch was quite numb and worn out after the love making session they had subjected each other too.

Craig wanted to sleep on the couch with her in his arms, but she had insisted she should go back to her townhouse to check on Leroy and spend some time with him, especially if he was still awake at 2am, which was very possible.

He walked her to her door and kissed her goodnight, she sighed as she watched him through her front window as he strolled back down into the street and disappeared into the night.

He wasn't really feeling very sleepy and went for a walk through the quiet streets, breathing in the crisp night air, feeling good. Meandering around in random directions, lost in thought.

A sound. A noise of some sort, coming from back the way he came, back at the townhouses.

He wasn't sure what it was, but it made the hairs on the back of his neck stand up.

Something was wrong.

Not hesitating, he turned and bolted in a full sprint back down the empty streets, the air deadening his hearing as it whooshed by, his body cutting through the breeze. He cut through side streets and alleyways he knew would get him there faster and his mind reeled as he swore he heard a car start.

He rounded a corner and stared down the long street towards the townhouses, Donald's van visible parked against the curb 100 metres away dead ahead. He also saw movement as a black figure walked past the van, obvious to see against the van's white paint job. Still running at full pelt, he pulled the pistol out from the small of his back and closed the distance, heaving air as adrenaline started heightening his senses and instincts guided his actions.

To the right, far behind the van, he could see someone standing in the street working on the door of a car, probably trying to unlock it.

Craig ran straight for the figure by the door as a voice to his left, by the van tore through the quiet night.

"Alert! Manny, heads up!"

Craig barreled straight on towards the man by the car who whirled around, startled, dressed completely in black, a balaclava hiding his face. Craig barely felt the ground under him as he angled his body down, leading with his left shoulder as the man tried to reach for something in his jacket, but was too late.

With a great heave, Craig charged into the man and slammed him violently into the car, the driver's side window smashing, showering Craig and the man with glass. The air knocked out of his lungs momentarily and his shoulder and left arm felt like it was missing. He collapsed down on the ground as the man slumped, hopelessly knocked out, the car door behind him buckled inward.

Craig gripped his pistol in his good right hand and fired at the general direction of the van as he lay sprawled on the asphalt, his aim wild and rushed as he fired again and again, almost emptying the clip at the van as its tyres screeched and it started speeding away.

The pistol finally clicked empty and Craig stared down the barrel as the van disappeared away, down the street and into the night. He stumbled to his feet, trying to force breath into his winded lungs as he reached for his pocket, looking for the spare clip.

"HELEN!" he shouted. He looked over to the townhouses to his right and half-ran, half-stumbled up the driveway. The lights were on and he could see the front door of Donald and Reggie's house was open and the wood splintered off near the door handle. Panic and anger rising up through his face, he stumbled further up to Helen's house. The front door was also broken open.

"HELEN! LEROY!" he managed to shout as he rushed in side and saw some of the furniture was disturbed and broken. He surged throughout the house, his heart freezing cold as he stumbled into Helen's bedroom, finding it empty.

"HELEN!" he spluttered, tears starting to well in his eyes and he frantically ran upstairs to Leroy's room, the door broken like the front door outside. He stumbled inside, punching the door open, causing it to smash violently into the wall behind it inside the bedroom where Craig could again find no trace of anybody.

"NO NO!" he screamed as he searched the house in a rush, despairing as he found no one. His vision blurring through tears, he ran back outside and checked through the other house, looking for Donald and Regina and finding nothing, no trace of them.

He ran back outside, down the driveway and back out in the street. "HELEN!!!" he screamed into the cold air at the top of his lungs. Listening, hoping to here a reply and getting none.

Anger gushed through his veins as he remembered the man he had rammed into the car before and ran down to find him still slumped down on the ground by the car. He could hear voices through a walkie-talkie strapped to the man's belt. Craig grabbed it and almost crushed it in his hands as he listened.

"Manny, are you there? Copy!? What the fuck happened?!" the voice crackled.

Craig held down the button on the radio's side, "I'm what fucking happened! I got your man!" he barked into the receiver.

He listened as he heard a mess of voices cutting through the growing static. "Fuck! Robert, whaddawedoo?!!" he heard, and was about to shout something obscene back when he heard a shrill voice puncture through the verbal mess.

"CRAIG! HELP US!"

It was Helen, he was sure of it.

"HELEN!" he yelled back into the radio.

"Shut up bitch!" he heard a garbled reply back on the radio along with various other noises and screams through the static.

He had to take control of the situation. He thumbed the reply button and spoke calmly into the receiver. "Listen. I got your man Manny here. He's unconscious, but he's alive. I will trade his life for my people. If you don't, I'll torture and kill him."

He waited for a reply, but he heard none. He was about to speak again when a different voice replied back, dripping with anger. 'Listen here, fuckball. You don't control this situation. We got four of your people, we aren't trading four for one."

Craig felt rage swelling up inside him, but managed to contain it. He had to think straight. Grinning wickedly, he replied. "I'm taking your man to a secret house in town. It's got a cellar, sound-proof. You won't be able to find us, I know this town like the back of my hand. Do you want me to outline to you what I will do to him if you don't agree to a trade?" he did his best to sound like a sick pervert, trying to sound like he was grinning over the radio.

"Shut up, just shut up!" he heard the man's voice, panicked and scared.

Craig's voice wafted into his receiver, almost singing it like a perverted nursery rhyme. "I'll fuck him up his tight little arse with a kitchen knife. I'll shred his cock off with a cheese grater. I'll stick skewers through his balls. I'll patch up the bleeding and start all over again, I could have fun with him all day! HAHA! Do you want me to continue?! Do you want to hear him scream down the line?"

"Alright! Alright! Just don't hurt him. You promise not to hurt him, and we'll promise not to hurt your friends. OK?"

Craig smiled, tears streaming down his face as he thought of Helen being returned safe and sound to him. "Deal. We do this when it's daylight, OK? I wanna be able to see what you're doing. No funny shit. Meet me at the front of the school, 9am."

"OK. OK." The voice replied hurriedly.

Craig let go of the reply button and looked down to the unconscious man, named Manny, and started forming a plan.

XXXXXXXXXX

Manny woke slowly, confused and his head pounding, his brain feeling several sizes to big for his skull. He felt chilly and he had trouble seeing anything. It was dark.

Pitch black.

Even when he strained his eyes open as wide as he could, he couldn't see a single thing. He couldn't move, his arms and legs and body feeling stiff and tingling from minor pins and needles. Taking a moment to concentrate, trying not to panic, he could feel the rough surface of ropes cutting into his wrists and ankls and a cold and smooth fabric of some sort cutting into his stomach and chest, making it a little difficult to breathe.

He strained at his bonds and managed to get some measure of his bearings. He was straddled over something on his stomach, his arms stretched out before him, his legs hanging down behind him, unable to bend them, they were stretched out straight down to the floor, his feet scrambling around in mid air.

But he felt a panic start to rise inside him as he felt the cool air on his exposed buttocks and crotch, up in the air. He was naked.

"Hello?" he called, his voice did not echo, but simply died in the air, in the pitch black unending darkness. "Hello?" he called, louder, panic overtaking him. "HEY! LEMME OUT! HEEEEEY! LEMME OUUUUUUTTT!"

XXXXXXXX

Craig listened through the door to the cellar storeroom. He listened and smiled as he heard Manny's screams permeate through the thick door.

XXXXXXXX

Craig woke from a nap to hear a voice pierce through the darkness over the walkie talkie. "Hello? Craig, you there?" Trying to clear his sleepiness, he focused his attention and recognized the voice as one of the kidnappers, the one he had spoke to last, presumably the leader of the bunch, Robert.

He turned on a night lamp next to him, the soft glow giving the lounge room of the large house he was in a spooky feel as shadows danced across the walls and floor around him. He checked the clock on the wall. 4am.

Grumbling, he grabbed the radio and replied. "Yeah."

"Hey, we're changing the deal. You give us Manny or we rape and kill your woman." The man's voice sounded determined.

Craig was prepared for this. "Oh really?" he said casually as he stood up and walked through the house to the cellar stairs. "I don't think you want to do that."

"Listen, buddy. I'm in control here. You don't wanna fuck with me." the man's voice was growing agitated.

Craig kept his cool, feeling unperturbed by the man's petulance. He calmly walked down the dark concrete steps, water droplets falling from the ceiling and slapping quietly down onto puddles in the floor as he walked through the dark cellar hallway. "Listen here….boy. You, flat out, do not scare me." He stopped in front of a large wooden door, the hallway lit by a sharp light bulb overhead.

"Listen fucker, you don't call me boy!"

"Oh yes, I do. And I call your friend Manny my slut. He's my bitch. I've got him tied up in a cold stone room right in front of me. I'll let you speak to him if you like." Craig replied, acid oozing through his words.

He heard no reply as he turned the latch on the door and opened it, the door's hinges creaking loudly. He held down the reply button as Manny woke up and started screaming from inside, his naked body bathed in soft light from the light bulb behind Craig, his shadow cascading over him in the gloom.

"NOO! GET AWAY! D-DON'T TOUCH ME!!!"

Craig stepped inside calmly, smirking at Manny as he struggled with his bonds, straddled over a large leather pommel horse. Craig had found this house 2 months ago, the cellar room's filled with various S&M equipment, whips, masks, handcuffs, leather outfits, at the pommel horse he now had Manny strapped over.

"MANNY!" the man yelled back through the radio.

Manny's eyes went wide as he recognized the voice. "ROBERT! GET ME OUTTA HERE! THIS CRAZY FUCK'S GOT ME BENT OVER! PLEASE!"

Craig silenced him by simply pressing his finger to his lips, Manny flinching at the soft touch. He shivered with fear as he struggled to contain his screams, staring up at Craig, terrified.

Craig sat the walkie talkie down in a chair beside the pommel horse and spoke quite loudly through the room, making sure he was heard clearly.

"You hear that? You better reassure me you haven't touched Helen or I'll start messing with your boy here." He said calmly, standing in front of Manny.

'You let him go." The man replied, his voice wavering.

Craig looked down at Manny, smiling devilishly, unnerving him greatly. "Hey Manny, tell your friend what I'm doing." As he reached down and started unbuckling his belt.

Manny erupted into a terrified scream. "ROBERT, HE'S TAKING HIS PANTS OFF! OH GOD! ROBERT, DON'T LET HIM ARSE FUCK ME! _PLEASE_!"

"Manny!" the voice shouted back, the speaker straining as the volume, crackling static.

"OH FUCK! ROBERT, HIS COCK'S IN MY FACE! OH THAT'S FUCKING DISGUSTING! BLUGH! ROBERT! NOOOO!"

"Alright! Alright! I'm sorry! I take it back!" the man blurted back over the radio.

"Robert, did you touch Helen?" Craig asked, violent murder hiding behind his calm voice as he stepped away from Manny.

"No No! I swear!"

"I don't believe you Robert…. Get Helen on the line."

"OK OK." Craig could hear rustling and static until he heard her voice.

"Craig!" her voice was silken beauty in the concrete dungeon. "Craig! Baby!"

Craig smiled as he eyed Manny, who looked very nervous. "Helen, did they touch you baby?" he asked.

"No no. They threatened to. We're OK."

Craig smiled, a sigh of relief escaped through his tense jawline. "Don't worry baby. I'll get you guys back, safe and sound."

"I know baby." She replied, her confidence palpable.

Robert's weak voice came back on. "OK see? She's alright. We haven't done nothin'."

Craig's voice hardened as he replied through his gritted teeth. "Good." A flash of inspiration made him hesitate. He had an idea. "Remember 9am, but this time, meet me on the roof of the school gymnasium. Remember, you try and fuck with me, I'm gonna shove sandpaper up Manny's arse with a hot poker. Got it?"

"OK OK. Just don't hurt him… We'll see you then." The voice was defeated and resigned. The walkie talkie clicked off and Manny shivered as Craig looked down on him, his penis still erect and pointing towards him, inches away.

Craig spoke slowly, "You better hope your friends live up to the deal, slut." As he thrust his pelvis forward, slapping the end of his penis into Manny's nose and left eye as he clutched his face up and started spluttering and crying.

Craig stepped back as Manny sobbed and pulled his pants back up, grabbed the radio and walked out of the room, closing the door behind him without a word, leaving Manny alone in the dark again.

Craig hesitated in the hallway, an idea suddenly dawning on him.


	24. Bad Deal

"_What have I done? I've gone and killed the only one I love. How could I do this? Start screaming at God. Why do you curse me?"Now I Lay Thee Down / Machine Head _

**Chapter 25: Bad Deal**

Craig stood in the morning light, nervous energy coursing through him as he waited for Robert to show up with Helen, Leroy, Donald and Regina. He absently fingered the trigger of his MP5 machine gun, the gun's strap looped around his body.

He felt the sharpness of the fishing lines wrapped around his index finger as he ran over the plan again in his mind. During the night, Craig had come up onto the gym roof. He had smashed two skylights and fixed steel hatches over the gaping holes. He had worked late into the morning and hadn't slept since the radio call last night. He had sourced the steel plates, hinges, bolts and screws from the hardware store and worked hard into the morning.

The plan was, when the kidnappers arrived on the roof, he would guide them until they stood over the trapdoors. The trapdoors were jimmied shut by a small piece of metal, but he had wired fishing line to the little metal brace, which, when pulled away, opened the doors suddenly, sending anyone standing on them falling down into the zombie crowd below.

He heard the slight rumble of a car engine approaching and checked his watch. 8:52am.

They were early.

Good. Let's get this over with.

He turned and saw Manny before him, unconscious, dressed in a tracksuit and tied up, lying on the edge of one of the two trapdoors. The other trapdoor was further away, towards the edge of the roof before him.

He walked forwards calmly up to the edge of the gymnasium's roof, stepping around the trapdoor, and peered down at the van as it pulled up.

Craig eyed the various trucks and blockades he had built previously all around the gym, secure and very steady. He also eyed the large streams of gaffer tape and cardboard he had used to cover up the windows and doors, making sure to hide any trace of what has inside. It just looked like an abandoned building. Derelict.

He stared down, now feeling a little nervous as he watched a man dressed entirely in black step out from the passenger side and head to the back of the van. The doors opened and the man motioned for the people inside to step out, "Come on!" he ordered impatiently.

According to Manny, his name was Evan. An old friend from high school.

A similar figure, also dressed head-to-toe in black and sporting a shotgun stepped out from the driver's door. It was Robert, revealed by Manny earlier to be his older brother. No wonder Robert didn't want Manny dead.

Robert glared up at him.

Craig waved back down, "Manny's fine. He's up here with me."

The driver was visibly nervous and angry, "He better be." As he eyed the large ladder bolted to the wall. "Come on Evan, let's get this over with." And looked back up to Craig, his eyes piercing out from behind his balaclava.

Craig smiled as he saw Donald, then Regina, Leroy and last of all Helen step out onto the gravel, out of the van and they all looked up at him, squinting through the morning sunshine.

They were all quiet, uneasy and tense, but Helen couldn't help herself. "I love you!" she cried up at him.

Craig smiled back warmly, but was cut short by Robert. "Hey! Shut up!" he barked at her. He glared back up at Craig, who shot fire through his eyes back down at him. "Back away! Let us come up. No funny shit!" he shouted.

"No funny shit." Craig muttered loudly back and backed off slowly away from the edge, watching Helen disappear behind the roofline as he stepped in behind Manny again and picked up the fishing linesagain, wrapping them around his index finger, painfully tight. The line cut into his skin.

He waited patiently and tensed as he saw Robert poke out from below the roofline and step out cautiously onto the steel roof, a pistol pointed at him as Craig pointed his MP5 at Manny.

They eyed each other intensely as first Donald, Regina, Leroy and finally Helen ascended up slowly and stepped out behind Robert, clutching their hands in front of them, eyeing Craig nervously. Regina's face was puffy and red, she had been crying. She clutched to Donald's arm and he hugged her back. The second kidnapper, Evan, climbed up onto the roof and waited in behind the group, a shotgun in his right hand. They had swapped their guns.

Craig tried not to look at the trapdoors as he got the trade underway, "Alright, come on then. It's OK." He gestured the group towards him. They all stepped forward slowly, stepping onto and over the first trapdoor at the back near the roof line, until the man with the shotgun stepped right on it. "OK OK! That's good. Close enough. I can see you." No one showed an inkling they saw or suspected anything untoward about the trapdoors. Craig had to admit, they looked clean and professional, as though they were supposed to be there.

Robert looked down at Manny and then back up to Craig. "How do I know he's not dead?" he said suspiciously.

Craig acted out a sigh and replied, portraying exasperation, "Well check him then. He has a pulse I assure you, Robert."

Craig watched intently as Robert stepped forward cautiously and knelt down beside Manny, leaning over him.

Craig's heart was racing, none of them had seen the fishing lines tucked into the roof ridges and both Evan at the back with the shotgun and Robert and Manny were in position, on top of the trapdoors.

Perfect.

Without warning, he tightened his grip on the line and yanked hard, the lines flying back towards him and the trapdoors opening suddenly as Evan and Robert both yelped with surprise.

Robert's door flew open first and both him and Manny fell right through down below, disappearing instantly. However, the Evan saw it for a split instant before his trapdoor opened immediately after, and he disappeared in a flash, but fired his shotgun in a panicked reflex.

The group threw themselves to the ground and yelped and screamed at the shock and Craig watched in horror as the blast blew off Leroy's leg through the knee, blood splattering everywhere as he tumbled to the ground. Craig dashed forward, screaming as Helen turned and went into a frenzy as she saw Leroy twitch and convulse, blood almost gushing out of his mouth as he stared blankly ahead towards her.

"NO LEROY!" she screamed, hysterical as she lunged over to him, throwing her body over his, grabbing his head and trying to get eye contact. "LEROY!"

"M-M-MOMMM!" he choked, pleading for her to do something, to help him.

Donald and Regina both stumbled back in shock as Craig shot passed them and knelt down beside Helen who was shaking and screaming, tears already spilling down her face. Her screams drowning out the cries of the two men below who were being torn apart by the zombie crowd below.

Lost for ideas, he hesitated as he took in the detail of the sight before him. Blood was gushing out of Leroy's leg, mangled and torn, his lower leg lying further away, lying across ways, incongruous and alone. It almost looked fake, like a prosthetic limb covered with tomato sauce.

He was in the middle of a convulsion, his tongue drooping out of his mouth as he shook, his teeth biting down hard on it amongst the blood that filled his mouth and poured out onto the steel roofing. Helen was desperately trying to hold him down and get him to look back up at her, but his eyes had rolled back into his head and his skin was quickly draining to pale white, like paper.

"OH GOD OH GOD MY BABY LEROY NO LOOK AT ME!" she spluttered and cried, her voice high pitched and panicked beyond sanity.

Fighting through the shock, Craig forced his arms to reach out for the two of them and grabbed Leroy's T-shirt by the waist. Leroy groaned and grunted and suddenly stopped shaking as his body went stiff, as though an invisible hand was wrapped around him squeezing the life out of him. Helen froze up too and clutched her hands over her mouth, somehow sensing he was about to die.

With a shocking and twisted finality, Leroy relaxed and seemed to sink down into the floor, his body limp, his face blank, his eyes pure white as they stuck fast rolled back into his head.

Helen froze as she watched him die, her hair clumped and sodden with tears and blood, her cloths soaked through a deep crimson. She whined and cried slowly as she knelt down over him, covering his body with hers. "My boy….." she whimpered and heaved and cried.

Craig simply knelt there and stared at the scene, unable to quite comprehend what had just happened. It was all so fast! His plan almost worked perfectly. He hadn't thought this would happen. It couldn't have happened!

Helen clutched her fist around the hem of Leroy's T-shirt and cried into his chest.

"Helen." Craig whispered.

She rose up on her knees and stared at him, her face splattered with blood and her eyes wide and filled with an impossible fury. She looked like she was about to lunge over and bite his head off. Through gritted teeth, she growled, "All you had to do, was do the trade. But NO! _YOU_ had to do some bullshit plan! NOW LOOK WHAT'S HAPPENED!" Her face broke down as her body shuddered with every sob.

"You killed him." She whimpered and collapsed back down on Leroy, wailing and crying loudly, her heart broken.


	25. Gone

"_Oh, you know it makes me so angry, 'cause I know that in time I'll only make you cry. This is our last goodbye." Last Goodbye / Jeff Buckley_

**Chapter 26: Gone**

"Helen." He said softly.

"I'm sorry."

Helen simply sat there on the floor in the back of the van. Her hair was ragged and her face was blank, staring down at the floor

"I'm sorry." Craig whispered again.

She looked up slowly, her face had seemed to have aged immeasurably since yesterday, when Leroy was killed on the roof of the gymnasium. She glared back at him, her face slacken and blank, but her eyes were hellfire. "You said you would get us back. You would save us." She said flatly. "All you had to do was do the trade and everyone would have walked away…. _alive_."

Craig felt about 1 foot tall as he stood there, not daring to reply.

"I trusted you. I took a great leap of faith with you. I was wrong." She said sternly, her anger building, but contained.

"I can't trust you."

Craig could do nothing but look at the ground and nod dumbly.

He looked up timidly as Helen stepped forward towards him. He flinched as she reached out towards him and stepped back, expecting her to punch him, but she instead grabbed the handles for the van's back doors and pulled them shut, slamming them closed in his face, leaving him staring at nothing.

Craig shifted nervously and uncomfortable, gripping and ungripping his hands as Donald stepped around from the front of the van, Craig frozen, dumbstruck.

"Craig." Donald said softly, his eyes showing understanding. He raised his hand, open for a handshake which Craig gripped absently. "I'm sorry for this. I really am. Helen wants to leave and we can't not go with her. We have to look after her."

Craig simply nodded back, tears welling in his eyes.

"Goodbye, Craig. Take care." He said warmly and turned to head back to the front of the van.

"D-Don." Craig stammered. He stopped in his tracks and looked back at him. "Take ca-care of her for me….. please."

Don smiled slightly, understanding and nodded, before disappearing around the van.

Craig continued to stare at the van doors, vacant and closed before him, the door windows clouded and blurred. He tried to look in, but all he could see was a brown smudged blur.

He stumbled back as the van coughed to life and vibrated on its wheels. Craig willed the van to not move, to break down or something, and it seemed as though it was somehow working until he heard the clank of the gearbox and the engine rev and the van started away slowly.

He simply stood and watched, biting his lip as tears spilled down his face, gathering on his chin and hanging on for dear life before dropping down onto the asphalt at his feet.

He watched as the van slowly drove away and disappeared down the street, out of view as it turned behind a line of houses. The sound of the engine revving wafted back towards him in the air, but slowly died away and disappeared completely, leaving him standing alone in the street, staring down the horizon.


	26. Epilogue

**Epilogue**

The air was stale and silent. The smoke from the cigarette was acrid and sharp as it wafted up past the side of his face and disappeared up into the ceiling vent in the tiny room.

He had sat there a long time. His behind was numb from sitting in the little chair for so long, but he didn't notice. He simply sat and stared straight ahead. The little red light on the console before him shined brightly in the grey gloom, trying to urge him to act.

ON AIR.

He finally blinked and slowly leaned forward, reaching out his hand and pointing out his finger, laying it on the play switch. He hesitated as his finger leaned on it for a moment, the grooves of the switch pressing into his fingertip. Finally, he pulled his finger down onto the switch. The switch clicked loudly and the speaker above him in the ceiling popped.

He leaned on his forearms as he watched the spools of the tape rotate around, mesmerising him, like the cycle of a front load washing machine at a Laundromat.

He closed his eyes and listened.

"My name is Craig Bronson. I am a survivor. The town of Inverloch is under my control. I have cleaned out any hint of the zombie plague. It's clean here.

Come find me. This is an open invitation to all-comers, for any other survivors out there. I welcome you with open arms. I provide sanctuary.

Please."

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**Author's note:** Yes, that's the end of this one. I hope you enjoyed the little journey. Many thanks to all those who had submitted reviews or contacted me. Your feedback and encouragement have been really appreciated. Please submit a review or a message, good or bad, angry or happy. Let me know.

What happens next? Who knows? The story may yet continue……

We'll see.

Kind regards,

Hoobajoo


	27. Book 2: A New World Rises: Introduction

**Dead Opportunities: Book 2**

**A New World Rises**

**Chapter 1: Introduction**

"My name is Craig Bronson. I am a survivor. The town of Inverloch is under my control. I have cleaned out any hint of the zombie plague. It's clean here.

Come find me. This is an open invitation to all-comers, for any other survivors out there. I welcome you with open arms. I provide sanctuary.

Please."

oooo00oooo

It had been difficult, standing there watching the van take Helen away. After all of the effort he put in to try and leave behind the destructive and abhorrent nature that thrived in him prior to Inverloch, he slowly started to regress back again into a world of depression, boredom and violence.

He had gone back to the school gymnasium, the scene of the botched rescue attempt from 2 days ago, where Leroy's leg was blown off as one of the men that kidnapped him and his mother, dropped through one of the trapdoors, but got a panicked shot off and killed Leroy. He looked down through the open hatches on the roof, looking down on the rotting zombie crowd milling about below, scrambling to reach up to him.

The bodies of the three kidnappers were nowhere to be seen amongst the chaos, lost in the rushing crowd.

It didn't matter.

Craig bent down and dragged the full petrol tank over to the edge of the skylight. He calmly unscrewed the cap and pulled out the spout, ignoring the groans and moans coming from below.

Slowly, he eased the can over and watched the petrol pour down into the crowd, the zombies unconcerned as they were splashed, raw petroleum spilling down into their growling open maws and filling their lungs and stomachs, but had difficulty standing up as the polished wooden gym floor became quite slippery. He did not laugh or smirk as the zombies slipped around, crashing into each other. He simply eased the can over and emptied the entire contents down.

He picked up the empty can and threw it over the edge of the roof, hearing the great crash as it thumped onto the gravel below, denting the corner, but otherwise intact. He calmly stepped back to the skylight and fingered his pocket. The pink plastic lighter felt so small and insignificant in his fingers as he held up before him. It was curious to think that something so small could cause such catastrophe.

He reached into his other pocket and pulled out a torn piece of cloth. A dry and old piece of table cloth he found earlier and he held it out before him, hanging down, the sunlight trying to shine through, but just glowed a dull grey through the fabric.

It took a couple of determined flicks before the lighter lit and stayed alight. The cloth started burning easily and he promptly dropped it down through the skylight and quickly backed away as far as he could.

He did not see the lit cloth flutter and drift down, the zombies stopping and staring at it in wonder as the flame consumed the cloth quickly, but not quickly enough as it landed on an awe-struck and petrol-soaked zombie, still burning brightly.

The zombie immediately erupted in a ball of flame, which quickly jumped to his neighbours, the fire spreading ferociously until it trailed down to the large puddle on the floor in only a couple of seconds.

Craig could feel the heat of the eruption and explosion as the roof shook. The roar of the flame was deafening and the heat so intense it felt like his face had been singed off. He held onto the ladder railing tightly as flames shot out through the skylights, the others that were still intact shattering in an instant as flames billowed up and out.

It was all over in a flash as Craig gripped the ladder tightly, thankful it was bolted to the wall and carefully climbed back down. Relief flooded through him as his feet planted securely on the ground and he stepped away to survey the gym. The windows had been blown out, but the various doors were secure, pressed and barricaded shut by cars and trucks, wedging the doors closed against the blast. Nevertheless, flames were already creeping out through the windows and between the doors, smoke wafting through the gaps.

He stopped to listen and could indeed hear the screams and mayhem from inside. Zombies were frantically dashing around, crashing into each other in a chaotic mess, scrambling to escape, but were trapped and promptly submitted to the flames.

He walked away, listening to the fire crackle, the moans and shouts from the zombies inside having stopped already. The scene of his regret burning down to the ground.

oooo00oooo

The days passed slowly and as previously, before Helen and the rest had arrived, he was lonely and spent much of his time swimming in memories and thinking too much.

He maintained his routines at the gym and made sure not to binge drink too much, only once a week as before.

It wasn't long after Helen left that the electricity gave out. Nothing worked.

He managed to find some diesel portable generators at both the hardware store and the Aussie Disposals store and managed, after a lot of trial and error, to hook the generators up to the house he chose to stay in, the one he and Helen had used, primarily because it had the nicest of everything, biggest TV, biggest stereo and surround sound system, electric hot water system and fridge.

Later, he managed to find some solar panels at the Aussie Disposals store and also hooked them up to the house he stayed in. They were intended to be used for camping purposes, but they worked just fine on the roof of the house, although not much sun was available this time of year. It was late June. Winter was still going strong, overcast and cold.

The power outage meant the radio broadcasts had stopped for a while, but he managed to hook up another generator and run it a couple of hours a day to maintain the message.

Given that the town was relatively clean and he had not encountered a zombie, ignoring the gymnasium, for over two months, he finally decided it was high time to go for a drive and explore.

He had previously found the keys to an SL55 Mercedes Benz in the rich street and had it proudly parked outside his home. He packed his bags, loaded and slung the MP5 and sat down into the car, smiling delightfully as he admired the view from behind the wheel. It was silver, plush leather and silver plastic plating inside and a nice view of the long sloping bonnet before him. He fired up the engine and was somewhat disappointed to not hear too much of a roar or the car vibrate, conveying untold levels of horsepower.

It was a Mercedes after all, not a muscle car.

Nevertheless, he couldn't wipe the smile off his face as he eased the car out onto the street, the automatic gearbox seamlessly wafting back and forth between the gears as he got used to the car, driving up and down Inverloch's inner streets.

Finally, he drove back through town and headed down the highway to the east, further down the coast. He felt nervous as the seaside road cleared up and the houses became less and less frequent. A sign confirming he was leaving Inverloch almost made him feel a little sad.

The road was calm before him and the Mercedes drove along effortlessly, each stab at the accelerator making the car lurch forward ferociously, scaring him markedly at the amount of power there was on tap. The car was deceptive. It drove faster than it felt.

He encountered no zombies as he drove along, silently admiring the beach and ocean stretching out into the horizon to his right.

Beautiful.

It's funny. He had not been out to a place like this for a long time. Either you are busy or when you do decide to go on a holiday, you go somewhere else, leaving the beauty of your own backyard unseen and unexplored.

Absently, he flicked the radio on and heard soft static waft through the speakers. He fiddled the knob and found his message playing faithfully on the AM band and smirked. He turned the knob further and froze in surprise as he heard another voice on a different frequency. It was faint but there all the same.

"-or survivors. I repeat, we have established a safe haven for survivors on Phillip Island. We have barricaded the island and it is now free from the zombie threat. We have food, water, clothing, shelter, medicine and other survivors. All comers are welcome. Bring whatever supplies you can with you.

We have established a safe haven-"

The message began repeating.

Craig was dumbstruck. He remembered visiting Phillip Island a long time ago when his kids were little and they watched the penguins walk up the beach to their burrows. Phillip Island based a tourist attraction on it. The island was located close off the coast and a bridge connected the main land to it.

He recalled a map of Victoria and realized that he had driven passed the road to Phillip Island in his way down to Inverloch. He would have to drive back towards the city, north-west. It wasn't particularly far.

Stupidly, he remembered it had a racetrack on it, thinking he would love to race this car around it……

oooo00oooo

The message continued to repeat steadily on the radio waves throughout the rest of the day and night. When he woke in the morning, he checked the radio again and heard it play again, like a heartbeat. Regular and rhythmic.

He procured the keys to a Toyota Landcruiser he found further down the rich street, "Marberry Street" he finally noted, never having thought to actually check before. It was impeccably clean inside, likely it had never seen anything close to off-road driving before.

He drove the 4WD out onto the street, cruising back to the Aussie Disposals store and parked it outside. He opened the door and had just set his boot on the asphalt when he heard a voice.

"HEY!"

Startled, he looked up and saw a man jogging towards him, a smile on his face, waving. Dressed in torn jeans and a red flannelette shirt, shoulder length blonde hair and bushy beard.

Craig stepped out onto the road and closed the car door before he waved back at the approaching man, "Hey! Did you hear my message?"

The man slowed to a walk as he came up to Craig, "Yeah. You're Craig, right?"

"Yeah."

The man's pearly white teeth shone through his beard, "I'm John." They shook hands, John grip not nearly as sure as Craig's, whose hands were bigger. John was quite thin, the beard hiding his slightly gaunt features. "Came from Phillip Island. We just set up a radio there and heard your message. Did you hear ours?"

"Yeah, I was starting to pack and come over." He gestured to the Landcruiser parked next to them.

"Mate, it's always good to see another survivor. Have you really got this whole place to yourself? No zombies?"

"Yeah, they've all been wiped out. Been here by myself for a few months now. It's good to see another face as well. I wouldn't mind getting out of here and hooking up with some new people. How are you guys set up?"

"There's 23 of us, including myself and Greg, back in the car behind me. I'll introduce you to him later. We've started planting crops and the island's home to dairy, cattle and sheep so food is looking pretty good. The island is naturally insulated from the mainland so all we had to do was build a gate or barricade-type-thing on the main bridge. Hey, you ever been to Phillip Island before?"

"Yeah, ages ago. Penguins, right?"

John grinned as he caught his breath, "Yeah, the little penguins are still there. Not so many tourists now."

Craig forced a smile. "How long's your message been playing for?"

"Only a couple a days, mate. Just got it started."

"Yeah? I heard it on the car radio of all things."

"Ha ha, that's funny. Hey, come with me. I'll introduce you to Greg." As he turned and gestured towards a small truck further back down the street.

Great, another Greg, Craig sighed to himself.

"So how were the zombies cleaned out here? You live here?"

"Nah, I'm from the city. Got out before things got bad. Drove here, but the bastards who had control over this place kidnapped my girlfriend and ran me outta town. I came back and killed them, but they'd killed her already."

"Christ, man! That's fucked! You got guns?"

"Yeah, got quite a few. Pistols mainly, got a machine gun too."

"Oh yeah, cool, mate!" his teeth flashed again as they approached the truck, a short middle-aged man stepped out from the cab.

"Hey Greg! It's Craig! Craig, this my friend Greg." He smiled as he introduced them and Craig shook Greg's heavily calloused hand, both of them gripping solidly.

"Always good to meet another survivor." Greg nodded respectfully.

"You're damn right about that, friend." Craig decided immediately that he liked Greg a lot more than John. John looked like a hippie, whereas Greg looked and carried himself much more like a handyman. Maybe a plumber or bricklayer or something. Stocky and confident.

John started to get down to business. "I told Craig about our set up. Hey, Craig. I didn't think to ask before. You wanna come hook up with us?"

Craig quickly gauged Greg's body language, looking for any apprehension and found none. "Yeah sure. Jump in the truck, I'll show you too the supermarket. We can load up."

"Alright!" John practically shouted as Greg simply smiled respectfully back to Craig, giving him a nod.

They quickly got into their truck, John talking excitedly to Greg as he fired the engine up. Craig jogged back to his Landcruiser and drove ahead of them, watching them follow in behind him as he navigated the short distance to the shopping district and parked outside the main supermarket.

Both John and Greg were all smiles and excitement as they all proceeded inside and grabbed trolleys from the front. Greg and John hurried along, whilst Craig encouraged them to slow down a little.

"Hey, you guys heard of anyone else around? Anyone else out there?" Craig asked as he loaded cans of vegetables into his quickly filling trolley.

John disappeared around the aisle, leaving Greg to answer. "Yeah, we heard of a mob somewhere up north. We heard someone talking on the radio, but we couldn't hear them properly. Don't rightly know if they're still alive. Haven't heard anything for a few days."

"Right."

"So, what's life been like here for you?"

Craig simply muttered back, "Boring."

Greg laughed, his voice echoing throughout the empty and dark supermarket, clanging and bumping noises echoing back from where John was grabbing more food and shoving them into his trolley.

Greg's demeanour stiffened, "Hey how did you get rid of the zombies here before? You didn't say before."

"The guys before me managed to round them up with a truck and trap them in a blockade. Clever pricks doused the crowd with petrol and set them alight. They all burned to death in a great pile."

Greg was incredulous, his eyes wide. "No shit?"

"Yeah, found the school gym was full of them too, school kids, teachers, all turned, just walking around locked inside the gym. Musta been hundreds of them. I torched them too."

"Jesus Christ." He breathed. "So…. What? You been here on your own for how long?"

"'bout three or four months." Craig muttered as he carefully and neatly stacked cans of corn and beans into his trolley.

"All on your own?" he asked, again surprised and dumbfounded.

"Yep. So I'm sure you can understand why I'm a little willing to join you guys. It's boring here, no one around. Would be nice to be with some nice people."

"Too right, mate. You poor sod. I tell ya, mate, you'll like it with us back at Phillip. Got a nice set up and the people are great. Mostly locals. Funny bastards." He chuckled, but it quickly subsided. "Me and John aren't locals. We're from up north. Nah, the zombies attacked Phillip and wiped out most people, but the rest managed to barricade and drive most zombies away. One crazy bastard got into his 4WD and simply mowed most of them down. Not too many people lived on the island so it wasn't too bad. Once they killed them all off, they built a barricade on the bridge and they were safe. We arrived not long after that, about 2 months ago."

"How did you survive before that?"

"Owned a farm up north. All I had to do was stay inside and not call attention to myself. Barely met any zombies. Didn't even know where I was. Survived on my sheep for most of the time. John was a mate, so he came over. Had to save the dumb fuck's life a coupla times. He owes me."

"I heard that! You're a fuckin' liar!" John joked from the next aisle.

"Bullshit!" Greg laughed back.

"Quiet!" Craig shouted, silencing them. He heard a noise back at the front of the store and drew his pistol from his back, bringing it up in front of him and pointing it back down the aisle.

"What's wro-"

"Shut up, John. What the fuck do you think?" Greg whispered back. He slowly reached into his pocket and pulled out a small pistol and nodded to Craig, both of the listening intently.

Craig nodded back and motioned for Greg to stay put as he crept slowly down the aisle, careful to keep his boots from making any noise as he stepped down the way.

He heard it again. A bump from the front of the store. It sounded like someone was punching on a glass window. Keeping his cool, shelves half stocked with canned food and cardboard boxes of pasta wafted by him as he crept further down the aisle. The sunlight from outside glowed through the dirty windows at the front, shadows and streams of light both cascading through and falling down on the deserted checkouts and sale stands.

He reached the end of the aisle as he heard the noise again. The foyer was empty, deserted, but he heard it once more, coming from his left. Turning and looking down the sights of his pistol, he saw the outline of a moving figure in the distance behind a grey and dirty window. A fist, blurred and shady, suddenly became clear and black against the glass as it banged down, the blur of the owner of the arm difficult to see clearly.

Carefully he crept forward, his boots barely making a sound on the linoleum floor as he started closing the distance. Crept noted the open electric sliding door not far from the window. Easy access for the zombie to get in.

Craig checked the distance to the door and eyed the swaying blurry figure, still banging uselessly on the window lethargically.

"Hey. Come get it." Craig called, loud enough for it to hear. He tensed as he saw the figure retreat away from the glass and disappear from view. He eyed the door and was ready as the mangled rotten zombie charged through, growling. It looked like a middle aged man, fat with wrinkled grey skin, no obvious wounds, though. Just wearing a grey suit that looked as though it was halfway from slipping off. It ran awkwardly at him, unable to swing its arms properly as it ran, half stumbling.

Craig kept his cool and lined up the zombie's head, calmly double tapping the trigger and watching the zombie suddenly fall face first into the floor with a thud, limp and dead, sliding across the linoleum and coming to a stop, splayed out and face-down.

Craig clutched the pistol and maintained his state of alertness, careful in case any more came, attracted to the sound of the gun shots. He stood there frozen and listening as Greg's footsteps pounded up in a run towards him.

"Shit! Where'd he come from?" Greg half whispered to Craig, still facing to the open door, gun up.

"Musta followed you into town and then followed us here. Quickly, get the trolleys and bring them to the front. I'll stand guard. We must be quick in case there are more."

"Right."

Craig crept towards the open door as he heard Greg run back up the aisle and say something to John. Absently, he decided his first impression of Greg was still correct, that he liked him. Cool under pressure and quick to think and act.

He crept further down, stepping around the dead zombie, eyeing it for a moment, and continued up to the open door. He leaned through and scanned the car park.

Nothing.

No, wait.

Movement.

Someone was running towards them from an alleyway in the distance. The figure was dirty looking and scruffy.

A zombie, no doubt.

He stepped outside and gripped the gun up in front of him as he heard the clash of the trolleys behind him in the foyer, the wheels squeaking as they rushed up to him.

He quickly looked over his shoulder to see Greg and John pushing the three full trolleys towards him, both of them looking to him expectantly. "One more outside. I got him. Wheel them outside to the truck."

They both nodded as the trolleys pushed past him and outside.

Craig ran out in front of them and eyed the zombie, still running at full pelt as it cleared the alley and crossed the road, still a fair distance away. He quickly scanned the surrounds left and right, looking for others, but this one seemed alone. He jogged towards it as it stepped over the curb and into the empty car park, about 40 metres away and running fast.

Craig calmed himself and waited for it to close the gap for a clear shot. He could see it more clearly now, a young man with long black clumped hair in a workman's suit, caked black blood on the collar and shoulder. Obviously he had turned with a neck bite.

The zombie's face was obscured behind its bouncing thick hair as it ran towards him, but Craig lined up its head in his sights and waited patiently for a clearer shot. Just as Craig saw its dark eyes through its hair, he doubled tapped the trigger again and relaxed as it too fell face first into the ground with a limp thud and lay still. The dead body solitary and alone in the empty car park now.

Still listening and alert, Craig turned to see John stepping up into the back of the now open truck. Nods of respect greeted him as he jogged back to them.

They lifted the laden trolleys up to the cab using the hydraulic lifter on the back of the truck one by one as John wheeled them inside and tipped the trolleys over onto their side, spilling their contents everywhere onto the floor. Without a word, Greg and Craig watched for threats as John spilled the last trolley and jumped back down beside them and closed the truck's doors.

"We'll get my guns and then we can go, yeah?" Craig said and Greg nodded. They drove back to the Aussie Disposals store, Craig leading in the Landcruiser with the truck following in behind. Craig stopped outside as the truck parked, but kept the engine running. It didn't take long for Craig to run inside, pack all of his arranged guns and ammunition into sports bags and bring them back outside, thrown unceremoniously onto the Landcruiser's backseat.

Craig waved and watched as the truck pulled out in front and trundled along down the street. He started the 4WD and pulled out to follow in behind.


	28. Relocation

**Dead Opportunities: Book 2**

**A New World Rises**

**Chapter 2: Relocation**

The drive along the Bass Highway only took around half an hour until the bridge to Phillip Island came into view. The roads were deserted, only a few abandoned cars were blocking the road here and there and barely any zombies could be seen given the open and secluded road.

The highway bypassed several towns that dotted through the land and any potential zombie populations were therefore oblivious to their presence.

The trip was quite peaceful. Craig simply eased the Landcruiser along behind the truck ahead, easily driving along at 80 kmph, which was all the truck was comfortable doing. It didn't matter that he could have driven faster. It was a nice drive. He wished he had brought some CD's along to listen to though. Some old school AC/DC or Cold Chisel would have been ideal.

The truck slowed as they reached the mouth of the bridge. Craig could see a large rectangle of wood blocking the bridge about 3 metres in from the bridge's mouth. Pulling in closer, he could see the hinges for a large door. The entire gate structure must have been over 4 metres high. The hand rails and fences on the sides of the bridge had been removed, leaving a sheer drop down to the water below, the wooden gate jutted out over the water by a good metre on each side, making a side step around the gate impossible.

He could see the gate was reinforced with concrete slabs and a large 4wd was parked behind the gate's door, holding it shut, stopping it from swinging inward and open.

Craig watched as John's hand waved from out of the truck's window and someone waved back from atop the large gate. He heard the 4WD start and the gate promptly opened, swinging open and inward like a huge house door.

The truck proceeded through and Craig followed in behind, waving cautiously to the guard sitting on the top of the gate and the driver in the barricade 4WD. In his rear view mirror he saw the gate swing closed and the 4WD reverse back up onto front of the gate, barricading it closed.

The bridge trip was very short and they encountered another gate of an almost identical design at the end. Just as before, they were waved through gingerly. The road weaved ahead, snaking through fields of green grass and bushes that looked overgrown and messy. Numerous houses lined the road, but many looked undisturbed. Holiday houses.

It wasn't long before the little convoy weaved into Cowes, the island's main town. The streets looked much the same as the inner streets of Inverloch. The stores were much the same, though on a smaller scale.

Craig followed and pulled up behind the truck as it stopped outside of a what looked like a council office where some people milled about outside.

He killed the engine and stepped outside as he saw Greg and John step out of their truck and greet a man that stepped forward towards them.

"Michael! We brought back heaps of food and guns and Craig too! He's decided to join us!" John yelled back excitedly.

The man turned to Craig after shaking John's hand with a smile and walked towards him, the small gathering of less than ten other people eyed Craig with a mixture of excitement and caution.

Craig stepped forward and smiled back at Michael, sizing him up. He was a relatively tall man, thin like John, also with a beard and long hair, a dark shade of dirty brown. He wore a neat pair of jeans and a shirt and jumper, his swagger indicating to Craig he looked like someone who supervised instead of helped.

"Craig." He said warmly. "Good to meet you. Always good to meet another survivor."

Craig extended his hand out, looking for a handshake, wanting to size up his grip to confirm his suspicions about him. "Thanks. Is that a common thing amongst you guys? You all say that."

Michael gripped Crag's hand, but Craig smirked as he felt Michael's grip found wanting, a little soft, but gripped harder in response to Craig's firm shake.

Craig decided immediately he didn't like this man.

Michael laughed a little nervously and released his hand, Craig maintained his grip on it for an instant before he let go. "Well, it's true isn't it? We gotta stick together. Welcome to Phillip Island, mate. I'm Michael, unofficial leader of this place."

"Unofficial, huh? Why's that?" Craig replied, the sarcasm a little obvious.

Michael smiled uncomfortably, "Well, we haven't had any official vote or some such, but we're surviving OK."

Greg broke the tension, "Hey, c'mon let's unload the truck. We brought back heaps of stuff!"

Craig stepped by Michael who seemed stuck where he stood. The surrounding people, a mixture of men and women and one small child, a girl, oohed and aahed as they loaded the many cans and boxes back into the trolleys. Craig went back to his 4WD to grab his guns and made sure to sling the MP5 machine gun over his shoulder, showing it prominently as he stepped back out into view. He noted Michael give him a cold look and walk away, back inside the council offices.

Most of the little crowd seemed to retreat away from Craig, uneasy and awestruck at the weapon strapped around him, John, however, was bursting with excitement.

"Jesus Christ, mate. Look at that monster. Never seen one of those before!"

"What exactly have you got, mate?" Greg asked, eying the two sports bags Craig carried with him.

Craig smirked as he replied. "Three 9mm pistols, over 800 rounds for them. The machine gun's got about 300 rounds and I've also got a rifle with 200 rounds."

Everyone was shocked.

"Jesus Christ! You're a one man army!" John squealed.

"Why? What have you guys got?" Craig asked, a little puzzled.

"Fuck, mate. This little pistol I've got and two others for the bridge guards is about all we have." Greg laughed as he held up the pistol from out of his pocket. "Only got 20 or so rounds left. Mate, you are a godsend." He smiled heartily, slapping Craig on the arm.

Craig smiled and then laughed as a thought struck him. This was the second time someone named Greg called him a godsend.

However, this time, Craig was not planning to kill him.

oooo00oooo

Later during the day, Greg and John proclaimed that there should be a party, in order to celebrate Craig's arrival and welcome him to town.

Craig was introduced to Nico, a middle aged native of the island, but with Dutch lineage, who offered to slaughter a sheep and cook it on a spit for dinner that night. His wife, Mari, a naturalized Russian, offered to cook up the vegetables and side dishes. She was a large woman, with her ample size and gruff demeanour, she looked very much the part of a cook used to preparing good food in bulk for family and friends.

Greg and Craig loaded up a trolley with assorted beer, wine and spirits.

The dinner was held in a local restaurant, near the tourist complex for the penguins on the south of the island. Everyone except two, who were on guard duty, attended and were eager to meet Craig.

The population was an almost exact mix of male and female, and included a couple of small families. They accounted for the three children, a girl aged four Craig recognized for when he first arrived, and two brothers aged 9 and 14.

Craig was guided by Greg and John as they introduced him to the various people as the wine and cold beer flowed and music pumped. It was as though the zombie plague was forgotten and people just enjoyed a good party. They all greeted him warmly, the men shaking his hand firmly and the women either giving him a quick and polite peck on the cheek or a handshake. The little four year-old gave him a little curtsey in her little pink dress, her brown curls bobbing as she shyly retreated behind her mother's leg.

He greeted them all back just as warmly, glad to be around so many nice people.

However, Craig was a little stunned as he was introduced to a relatively attractive woman named Sarah, curvy and voluptuous with long curling brown hair. Her bust was almost bursting out through her low cut top, no doubt a push-up bra employed to assist.

"Hello, Craig." She purred. "Everyone's been telling me how much of a superstar you are. I wanted to meet you."

"I'm no superstar." He blushed, gripping the cold beer in his hands and eyeing her bulging cleavage. "Just a survivor looking for some nice people to…. uh…. shack up with."

Sarah grinned and tapped her glass of wine against Craig's beer, "Well darling. Good to have you…. shacking up with us. I'll catch you later."

He watched her wiggle away and walk over to someone.

Craig gripped his beer tightly as he saw her drape her arm around Michael as he chatted to someone Craig met before, but whose name he couldn't remember. She smiled back at him mischievously, flashing her eyes as she planted a kiss on Michael's cheek.

Craig flinched as Greg appeared next to him, "Watch yourself, Craig. She's a slut. She's only with Michael because he's the self-proclaimed leader."

"You obviously don't like her then?"

"Useless bitch is only good for a root, mate. Nothing more. She only arrived a week ago. Just watch yourself. She's a tricky slut."

"Uh… right." Craig replied, slightly confused. "Why? What's she done?"

Greg fiddled with one of the nails on his fingers, chewing it absently before he replied, "We'll have a catch up after this party's over. I'll give you the skinny on what's going on, OK?"

"OK."

Greg relaxed, "C'mon, mate. Let's go give Nico a hand in the kitchen. Spit's probably done by now."

Indeed the lamb spit roast was ready, juicy and soft, it was greeted excitedly by the crowd as everyone sat down on a long table and took turns carving off slices. Maria brought in large bowels of vegetables and salads, but everyone mainly had eyes for the roast.

Craig made sure to sit next to Greg, with John next door to him. A young man named Carl sat next to Craig on his other side.

Directly across the table from him were Michael and Sarah. Michael eyed Craig coldly whilst Sarah continued to flirt with him, flashing looks at him when no one was looking. Or so she thought. Greg made sure to keep an eye on her.

Otherwise the festivities proceeded along in earnest. Everyone tucked into their ample meals and poured more red wine. Nico and Maria made sure to keep doggy bags aside for the guards still posted on the front gate, who were missing out on the occasion. Craig enjoyed talking to Greg next to him, learning his history and joking about football.

Greg was a farmer and former tradesman who lived with his wife on a sheep farm up north. Life was a little tough shearing sheep given the low price of wool, so he supplemented his income as best he could doing odd jobs for people, fixing things, building fences, that sort of thing. He was largely responsible for designing and building the bridge gates. Marli, his wife died a year ago of cancer. It was a difficult time for him and it was excruciating to watch her wither and die like she did, but he was comfortable with her death, glad to know her pain was over.

John helped work the farm and had become a good friend since she died. John wasn't the greatest farm hand, but was good for company. He too had experienced the trauma of a death in the family through cancer, his sister over 5 years ago.

Whilst they were both good friends, they had lost many others when the plague erupted. Many other farmers had fled or fallen. Friends and family members lost in the confusion or torn down before them in the street. Greg knew of no other survivors in his area and was glad to find the Phillip Island colony when he did. He found it by chance, figuring that it would be a good place to survive given its relative isolation and bridge entrance.

He was correct.

Many of the other survivors sitting around the table had the same idea, which had almost undoubtedly saved their lives, Greg surmised.

As the plates slowly began to empty and everyone cradled their glasses in their hands, Michael took the opportunity to tap his spoon against his wine glass, prompting everyone to pause for a speech.

Michael rose, his wine glass held casually by his side as Sarah sat clutching her hands between her legs beneath the table.

"We are all gathered here today to celebrate the arrival of Craig. Another survivor who has brought us some very important supplies. We owe him our heartfelt thanks."

Everyone around the table clapped, some cheered, including John.

Michael shushed the applause with a slightly off-balance wave of his hand.

"So in his honour, I would ask everyone to stand and toast with me to formally welcome him."

Everyone promptly stood and raised their glasses. The three children present had to make do with glasses of water.

"Welcome Craig."

"Welcome Craig." Everyone repeated.

Craig hated these sorts of things. He hated doing speeches to people he either didn't like or didn't know. Begrudgingly, he rose and quickly tried to think of something equally polite and diplomatic to say.

"Uh…. I'm rubbish with speeches so I'll keep it a little short. As many of you would know, I was in Inverloch for the passed few months. I was there on my own and it has been a very lonely… uh…. experience. It's very nice to now be staying with such fine people." He promptly sat down before anyone had a chance to ask a question or propose another toast. He was greeted with polite applause.

Greg leaned over, "Nice speech, mate."

Not long after the toast, the families present with children noted the time, after 10pm, and excused themselves to leave. Soon after that, people started filtering away, taking the night with them, whatever they had in mind.

Craig was eager to get away from Michael, who had barely spoken to him the entire night and elbowed Greg in his ribs to go for a walk.

Greg nodded and Craig promptly reached over the table to Michael to give him a parting handshake, "Thanks for the kind words…. friend."

Michael seemingly reluctantly reached up and reciprocated the handshake, conscious of Sarah hugging him around his waist as she cheekily pouted a kiss in Craig's direction. "Likewise." He muttered back.

Craig stared Michael in the eyes, deliberately ignoring Sarah and turned abruptly to leave with Greg. Craig sighed and took in the cold night air, the rush of fresh sea air refreshing from the stuffy environs back inside.

"C'mon, mate. Let's take a walk." Greg offered. Craig nodded and fell in beside him as they walked down towards the shore.

"So what's goin' on? What the deal here?" Craig got things started.

Greg ran his fingers over the stubble in his chin and seemed deep in thought. "I don't like Michael and I don't like Sarah, as you already know, mate. So far, for the entire time I been here, Michael's done fuck all. He doesn't help much. All he does is pretend to oversee the distribution of food."

"So…. why is he leader then?"

"Pfft. Because he says so. Now that we are established here, no one can be bothered challenging him because it doesn't seem like there's really much to do. Just sit here and survive."

"So, what are you thinking?"

"I think you should take over. We could do so much more. We could be sending out trucks to look for more survivors and supplies. Michael thinks we shouldn't risk it. There must be other people out there though. John and I stole that truck and went out to find you without his authority. He objected for fuck's sake! I think he doesn't want anyone new to ruin his set up here."

"Yeah."

"But that brings me to Sarah. Something's wrong with her. I don't trust her, y'know?" Greg fiddled with his ear as he considered his phrasing. "Y'know when you meet someone, you immediately judge them? First impression?"

"Yeah, I use a handshake for that. Michael's a pussy."

"Yeah, too right. Anyway, I think she's hiding something. She's not what she says she is."

"Why? What does she say?"

"A survivor from the city. Killed her family who had turned and came out here alone."

Craig frowned. "There's no way that story flies with me. If she only arrived a week ago, then she's been on her own for months. You can't survive in the city on your own like that. Especially her."

"Fuckin' A. That's what I thought."

Craig mulled over an idea. "Leave it with me, mate. I'll see what I can get out of her. I'll see if she's got a plan or something and pretend to get in on it. We'll bust her open."

'Yeah, mate. Just watch yourself though. She might be a stunner, but I bet she hides a knife under her pillow. Make sure she doesn't cut your dick off, OK?"

Craig chuckled and Greg relaxed and laughed too. "Alright, mate. I'll be careful."


	29. Blown Cover

**Dead Opportunities: Book 2**

**A New World Rises**

**Chapter 3: Blown Cover**

Craig sat on the sands of the rocky beach, watching the sun go down after a hard day's work. Greg, John, Carl and himself had taken the truck back out again and loaded up on more supplies, taking their time this time and bringing back a lot more.

Craig had stood guard and had to shoot down several zombies that had come from nowhere as the three loaded pallets of canned food and other supplies into the truck. The haul was quite impressive. Everything from more canned and packaged meals, to timber and hardware supplies from the hardware store to the diesel generators and solar panels Craig had procured previously.

Craig and Greg had worked throughout the day to install the generators and solar panels, which was successful. The island's residents were obviously overjoyed at the increase in supplies and more trips were proposed to Inverloch to search for more supplies, such as alcohol and more food and hardware and seeds for crop planting.

Content with his work for the day, he had walked down to the beach to have a sit and relax with a bottle of whisky he took from the local bottle shop, which was still relatively well stocked, although some of the beer was starting to pass the use-by date and taste a bit off.

He leaned back and lay down on the grassy embankment behind him, when he heard sand shuffling to his right and looked over to find Sarah walking towards him in the afternoon gloom.

Here we go, he sighed to himself. She was wearing jeans and a turtle neck jumper against the cold, the low cut singlet from two nights ago obviously not practical given the outdoors weather and sea breezes.

Craig watched her as she walked up and simply sat down beside him without saying a word, looking out at the surf pound down onto the sand.

"Hello, superstar." She whispered.

"Hello." he said simply back. "What are you doing down here?"

"I came to see you."

"Is Michael a bit busy for you this evening?" he replied sarcastically.

She clicked her tongue as she fiddled with a stray strand of her curly hair. "There are certain qualities that I find lacking in Michael."

Craig looked her in the eyes, studying her.

"He has a teeny tiny willy." She joked and giggled as Craig broke out in a small chuckle. "This big." She held out her thumb and finger, indicating a very small length indeed.

Craig seized the moment. "So, is there something you're looking for that I can assist with?"

"There might be." She purred and leaned in towards him.

Craig was obviously eager to get into her pants, but steadied himself as he remembered his conversation with Greg. "Hey, y'know, I didn't get a good chance to talk to you the day before. What's your story? How did you survive?"

Sarah leaned back against the sand, her face tensing as she gathered herself. "I lived in the city, an apartment block. Most of the residents didn't make it back from work and the block was nearly deserted. I stayed in there for a coupla months before I decided to get out. I got into my car and drove out down the coast to here."

"Right. An apartment block, huh? Hey which one? I had a friend who stayed in the city in a block. Maybe you saw him?"

"Oh uh. Just a block on Flinders Street."

Craig pretended to get excited. "Really? Was it 106 or 32 Flinders Street?"

"Oh, uh the 32 one." She replied uncomfortably.

"Oh, shame. My mate was in the other one. Oh well. You musta been lonely in that place."

Sarah visibly relaxed. "Yeah, well, you said it was lonely for you when you were in Inverloch, well it was very _very _lonely for me being trapped in that place until I came here. I had no one for….. company." She breathed as she leaned in again towards him.

"Well that's a shame. How do we fix that?" he said deeply.

She leaned in further, placing her hand on his shoulder and kissed him, moaning softly.

oooo00oooo

Craig and Greg jumped into the truck and filed in through the island's front gates to get some more supplies from Inverloch. As soon as they cleared the gates, Greg running down a stray zombie, the truck bucking as the wheels trampled over it, Craig broke the news to Greg.

"Sarah is definitely lying about her story. I got her to tell me which apartment block in the city she stayed in. 32 Flinders Street. That's a parking complex. I checked it in the Yellow Pages."

'Yeah, bitch is lying. We need to find out more about her."

"Hey Greg, does she stay in her own place? Has she got her own house picked out or something?"

"Yeah, I followed her once. There's a small house I saw her go to once on the north side."

"Tonight, I'll meet up with her again and you can sneak into her place and look around."

"Sounds like a plan, my man. Hey tell me. Was she any good?"

Craig grinned, "Fuckin' unbelievable."

ooo00oooo

The trip back to Inverloch had again been a success. The small zombie population they encountered were dispatched easily using the truck to simply mow them down, and Craig's increasingly steady aim with his MP5 downed all other charging zombies as they looted the supermarket further and roamed town looking for more entertaining supplies, namely, the local porn store, video store and electronics stores.

The children and other residents were very happy to receive the Xbox and Playstation, as well as a whole backpack of games.

oooo00oooo

Later that night, Craig liaised with Sarah again, meeting at the same place on the beach as the night before.

Craig didn't try to get any information out of her. He simply went along for the ride and enjoyed himself as Greg crept up the little shack on the opposite northern beach under the cover of darkness, completely confident in Craig's abilities to keep Sarah busy.

The little shack was very secluded and hidden in a large den of trees and scrub. It would be very easy to miss and there would have been no way to know about it or find unless Greg had followed Sarah previously.

The weeds rustled and crackled underfoot as he stepped cautiously through the moonlight gloom up to the shack's front door. Locked with a pad lock.

No matter, he thought as he found a broken window around the corner and carefully climbed inside.

The little shack was quite bare, only a cheap table and chairs, a small single bed and a small door leading to a small toilet and bathroom. Scanning the room, the thing most obvious of note was a radio console of some sort sitting on the edge of the table. Careful not to disturb anything and finding nothing else of interest, he noted the frequency the radio was set on and quickly left through the window, heading back to his own house, disappearing out into the darkness.

oooo00oooo

Later the next morning, Michael gathered everyone for a town meeting, with apparently something very important to discuss.

They gathered into the local school gymnasium, the irony of the location relevant only to Craig, as they quietened down to hear Michael speak, standing on a milk crate before them.

He stood proudly, his voice echoing through the empty hall, "Everyone, there have been a couple of things brought to my attention, which need to be discussed. The first item is that of guard duty. Jack and Carole have bravely and unselfishly been manning the gates during the night for the past week and they are due for some relief. I am requesting volunteers to replace them while they catch up on sleep. Two people required. Any volunteers, please raise your hand."

To Craig's surprise, he saw Sarah raise her hand.

Also to Craig's surprise, he saw John raise his.

He looked to Greg who was standing a few metres away, but he ignored him.

"Alright. That was easier than I thought. The next item on the agenda concerns trips out to salvage supplies. We are currently running a little low on diesel fuel. We need to make another supply run. The plan is to take a weed spray truck and fill it with Diesel fuel from Inverloch. We have no proper fuel tanker trucks, but the weed truck has a rather large plastic tank on the back that can hold over one thousand litres. We need volunteers to make this supply run in two days time. Again, I ask for volunteers. Only two as I am also volunteering to come along."

Craig promptly raised his hand, and encouragingly, he saw Greg also raise his.

Michael smiled, "Right. That settles that then. Now, does anyone have anything else to discuss?"

Greg spoke up, "Yeah. Craig and I are going to do another supply run to Inverloch today. We need more hardware. Batteries and tools. That sort of thing. If anyone could let us know if they would like us to get anything else for them, just let us know."

Michael seemed impatient. "Yes, yes alright. That's all we needed to discuss, I believe. Dismissed." He promptly stepped down from the milk crate and strolled out from the gymnasium, leaving some of the residents a little stunned. Craig watched as Sarah walked out only 20 seconds after him as Greg came over.

"Let's take a walk, mate. Got something to show ya."

They exchanged a serious look between them and filed out of the gymnasium along with everyone else out into the golden morning sun shine.

Greg walked in front and guided Craig away from the people milling about outside, not saying anything until they were far away enough for no one to hear. "I got into her place last night. Guess what I found."

"What?" Craig was impatient to find out.

"A radio. I noted down the frequency and went back to my place. I dialed in the radio we brought back from last time and hooked up a tape recorder to record whatever it heard."

Craig caught on. "Sarah left early last night. Fucked me then up and left."

Greg nodded, "Yeah, come over to my place. You need to hear what I recorded. Fuckin' unbelievable."

Soon after, they arrived in Greg's commandeered home, a small but tidy and comfortable modern home near the centre of town. He led Craig inside and they sat down in the house's study, where a tape recorder was spinning slowly, attached to a small radio on a small computer desk.

Greg pulled open a drawer and retrieved a small tape player. "This was recorded at 10:39 last night, presumably not long after Sarah left you. Listen." He said as he pressed the play button.

"Hawk to nest. Hawk to nest. Are you receiving me?"

Craig recognized it as Sarah's voice. After a short pause, another voice Craig did not recognize responded.

"Hawk, this is the nest. Read you loud and clear. What's the update?"

"Craig and Greg have done another supply run today. They collected some electronics. Nothing to be worried about. Have you got a new plan for me?"

"Yeah, we want you to change your night guards. Make sure at least yourself or Mikey are on it. When we come rollin' this Wednesday, you kill the other guards and let us in. But the day before that, we want you to do another supply run. Again, we want either yourself or Mikey to go with Craig and Greg and kill them. Make it look like an accident, that zombies got them. They are the biggest threats, so we want them eliminated before we invade."

"Roger. I got that. We'll call a town meeting tomorrow morning and arrange everything."

"Good girl. Does he suspect anything?"

"No. Dumb fuck's under my spell, babe."

"Yeah, ha ha good. Call in again when you have done the supply run with Craig and Greg and confirm they are dead. Until then, we're armed and ready. We'll see you soon."

"Love you, babe."

"Love you, too ya foxy bitch. This will be over soon. Out."

"Out."

Craig was dumbfounded. Anger rose inside him. He wanted to kill the both of them right now.

"I couldn't fuckin' believe it when I heard it, man." Greg said solemnly. "Should we kill them now? We play this message to the people as proof?"

"No. I've got a better idea. When we go on the supply run with Michael we knock him out. We bring Sarah along, too. I'm gonna persuade her to double cross them."

"How are you gonna do that?"

"We need to know who these people are and what we are dealing with. If we don't prepare, we may get an unannounced invasion in the middle of the night and all get killed. We'll get her to talk. If she doesn't co-operate, we'll torture her until she does."

"Fuck!" Greg baulked at the prospect.

"And….. I know exactly how and where to do this."


	30. Infection Removed

**Dead Opportunities: Book 2**

**A New World Rises**

**Chapter 4: Infection removed**

Today was the big day. Tuesday.

Michael, Greg and Craig were due to head out for another supply run to Inverloch in the weed spray truck to get diesel.

Each of the men climbed into the truck both nervous and excited as they pulled out over the bridge and headed down the Highway to Inverloch. Michael revealed it was the first time he had been off Phillip Island since the zombie plague had begun.

Prior to the trip, Michael had asked for a pistol. Michael had never used one before and it was quickly apparent as he awkwardly held it and test aimed it towards the horizon. Greg had made sure the magazine inside was empty, not that Michael knew. Nor was he aware of Sarah, unconscious and covered in the compartment behind the front seats, her radio also brought along.

The drive was quiet and uneventful except for the air of nervousness and tension between the three men sitting in the front of the truck, Greg in the driver's seat, Craig sitting in the passenger side and Michael sitting in the middle. They barely spoke a word during the whole trip.

They arrived at the local Inverloch petrol station and Greg pulled the truck to a stop. As they stepped out and stood at the back of the truck, right on cue Michael immediately pulled out his pistol and aimed it at the pair.

He smiled from ear to ear, "Sorry, boys. Time to die." and he pulled the trigger, stunned and puzzled to find it would not fire.

Craig quickly unslung his MP5 and aimed it right at his head as he stood before them, dumbfounded, incredulous, unable to speak.

"We know about your plan, shithead." Greg spoke coolly. "I emptied your gun."

"Oh God. Oh fuck!" he started whispering to himself in a panic, starting to hyperventilate. "P-P-Please, don't hurt me."

Without missing a beat, Craig and Greg smiled as Craig stepped forward and smashed the butt of his machine gun down on Michael's head, knocking him unconscious on the spot.

oooo00oooo

He woke. It was dark. Pitch black. His head hurt. A thumping headache.

He was uncomfortable. The air was cool on his skin. He was naked and couldn't move, lying over something on his stomach, rough rope cutting and rubbing into his wrists and ankles.

"Oh God! What's going on?"

"Michael?"

"Sarah? What's going on?!"

"I dunno!"

They were interrupted as a large door squeaked open and light poured into the pitch black darkness, blinding them. A large and prominent shadow cast across the two of them through the light, helping to shield them from the sharp and painful glow. They were both terrified and confused, especially as they heard a familiar voice.

"Hello."

"Craig?" they both exclaimed in surprised unison.

"Yep. Greg's outside. He's standing guard, but I think more because he doesn't want to watch."

"W-watch what?" Sarah stammered.

"Take a look where you are."

Both of them only now realized they still didn't know where they were and looked around the room for the first time in the sharp light. They were both naked and strapped over a large leather pommel horse, side by side together, their hands and ankles tied to hooks on the floor with rope. They were trapped in a small brick room that looked dirty and water dripped from the ceiling. They didn't know it, but it was the same dungeon Craig interrogated and humiliated Manny in a few weeks ago.

They both started panicking and screaming. Craig promptly slapped the both of them across the face and they quietened down, although they both continued to sob and whimper.

"We know about your plan. You are co-operating with another group to assist with an invasion of our colony. We have proof. We taped you, Sarah, talking with "the nest" two nights ago."

"Oh God! Oh fuck!" she started gasping. "Let me explain! Please!"

Craig sat down on a chair in front of the both of them, setting down a tool box on a small table next to him and regarded them with icy stillness, devoid of emotion. "By all means. Explain."

"They're a biker gang up out from Moe to the east. I joined up with them when they invaded. I used to live there. They saved our town! But now they're looking to spread out and invade other places, y'know? Take over and conquer. They sent me here to get things ready for an assault this Wednesday. To suss out the place and get things arranged."

Craig leaned forward, "And you got Michael in on it."

"Yes." She nodded. Michael let his head hang down, keen not to look at Craig or let him look at him.

"Right." Craig replied calmly. "Hey, satisfy my curiosity, did you ever have three guys called Evan, Robert and Manny?"

"Uh.. yeah. They were sent out to find survivors and recruit or capture them. Why?"

"Guess who killed them. I strapped Manny over the thing you are in now before I killed. Fed him to zombies."

"Jesus Christ!" she looked like she was going to throw up.

"Right. I want your complete and undivided attention, because I am going to explain how this is going to work. Sarah, you are going to call your friends back on the radio and you will tell them to abort their plans, or I will kill you. It sounds to me as though someone there cares about you. What's his name?"

Sarah refused to answer and stared straight ahead to the floor, her face blank.

Calmly, Craig turned and opened the toolbox next to him. "Sarah, you don't want to give me cause to get angry. You will answer my questions or I will anal rape you with this." He held up a dirty and rusty file before her. She gulped.

"Harry! His name's Harry!" she blurted out.

Craig pulled the file away and put it back in the toolbox. "Good girl. Who's Harry?"

"He's the leader."

"How many of you guys are there?"

"Um… 'bout 50, I think."

"Guns?"

"Yeah, they're bikers. They got heaps!"

"Alright. I'm going to call them on the radio and you are going to talk to them and tell them to abort, OK? We know they exist and if they try anything, I will personally rape you to within an inch of your life. That goes for you too Michael. I know what it feels like to be butt-fucked in prison so I know exactly what to do." Craig smiled as he watched Michael shudder and cry. "You don't want that do you?"

"N-n-no!" Michael blurted out.

Without saying a word, Craig knelt down and untied Sarah's ropes at the floor, the shackles still clung around her wrists and ankles, the ropes dragging across the floor as she stood up.

"You're coming upstairs with me to make the call. Michael. Sit tight. This won't take long."

Craig gestured for the door and Sarah calmly stepped out through the threshold into the cramped cellar passageway, still naked and feeling very uncomfortable, clutching herself, covering her breasts. Craig stepped in behind her, his toolbox in hand and he guided her through the dark passage and up the cellar steps.

Sarah was surprised to see the cellar door at the top of the stairs open up to a plush looking lounge room. Old styled leather couches and shining bare boards. A log fire burned at the head of the lounge room to her left where she saw Greg waiting comfortably, eyeing her up and down. Although the room was warmed by the fire, knowing Greg could see her naked made her shiver.

"See that chair in the middle?" Craig gestured as she stepped out onto the floor boards. She saw it sitting on front of the couch Greg was seated on, her radio on a night stand next to it. "Sit down."

Without a word, and trying not to look at Greg, she complied and sat down, uncomfortable as she felt the cold wooden chair press against the soft of her thighs and groin. She felt incredibly vulnerable and flinched as Greg grabbed her hands and tied them to the chair with the spare rope hanging from her wrist shackles. Craig did the same with her ankles straps.

They both sat down on the couch and regarded her as she sat there, naked and tied to the chair, trying to hide her face and breasts by letting her hair drape over in front of her.

Craig interrupted the silence. "Remember Sarah, you need to tell them that we have guns and know their plan. They need to abort and leave us alone or I will torture and kill you. Greg, dial them up."

Greg leaned over and flicked a switch to turn the radio on. A little orange light glowed on and the radio's LED display shown the correct frequency. Craig nodded at her to begin.

Reluctantly, she spoke, she had to clear her voice as it squeaked.

"This is Hawk. Come in Nest."

For a moment there was silence before she tried again, her voice louder and more steady.

"I say again. Nest, this is Hawk. Do you read me?"

"Hawk. This is nest. What's up?" Craig noted it was another voice, not Harry's.

"Mission compromised. My cover's been blown and I've been captured. Get Harry on the line."

"Uhhh…. Right."

The line was muffled for a moment and stay silent until another voice, Harry's, spoke.

"Sarah, what's going on?"

"Harry, I've been captured. Craig and Greg discovered the plan and have myself and Michael captive in a house. I don't know where I am. He's got me tied naked to a chair."

"Motherfucker! Is he there?"

"I'm here." Craig spoke, enjoying his rage.

"Listen here you little fuckwad." His voice was battery acid. "Let Sarah go and I won't send my army down there to kill you all."

Craig was loving it, "Ah, Mister Harry sir. Sorry, but that's not how this is going to work. As she says, she is tied to a chair in front of me. You will leave our town alone or else I will torture her."

"You fuck! You fucking fuck!! You ain't the only one with a hostage you little shit!"

Craig frowned, "How's that?"

"Helen."

The name surprised him. It seemed so absurd. Helen was with them. He laughed out loud.

"Ha ha ha!! Jesus Christ! Helen's with you?!" he guffawed.

"That's right. And so's Donald and Regina. You even touch my girl, I'll torture them."

"Go right ahead, you dumb bastard! They ran out on me! I don't give a fuck!"

"You're a shit bluff, asshole."

"You think I'm bluffing are you?" Craig leaned over and opened his toolbox and picked out a small Tupperware container. "Harry, I've got a small container here full of drawing pins. I'm going to start sticking them into your bitch now."

Sarah went wide eyed and immediately started screaming. Craig could also hear Harry screaming down the radio, yelling obscenities. Sarah writhed and struggled in her chair in a cold panic.

"Greg, hold her!" Craig yelled. Greg dived up out from the couch and stood behind her chair, holding it in place and grabbing her hair, yanking it up and craning her neck awkwardly over the chair's back.

Sarah continued to struggle and contort, screaming as Craig slowly selected a blue pin from the tub and stepped in front of her, holding it out before her as it gleamed in the light.

Craig raised his finger and waited for her to calm down, which she started to, breathing fast and heavy through her messed hair. Harry also seemed to sense the moment and he stopped screaming down the radio, letting a perverse silence descend through the room.

"You still think I'm bluffing?" Craig said into the air.

"Fuck you!"

Craig leaned forward and cupped Sarah's right breast. She screamed and writhed, but Greg held her fast to the chair. Craig carefully and methodically inserted the pin directly into her erect nipple, piercing the skin and digging it into her flesh. She screamed at the top of her lungs at the painful violation, crying and heaving.

"Harry! Make him sto-hop!" she cried.

"Sarah!" he screamed back, his loud voice distorting over the small speaker.

She tried to lean forward to bring her knee up to her chest and somehow pull or knock the pin out, but Craig pressed it further in, causing her breast to press and dimple inward as the sharp pin dug into her soft breast tissue, threatening to dig further in and scrape her rib cage.

She erupted in another bout of high pitched screams and whipped and struggled around in their grip, her arms and legs pulled and snapping, stuck against the chair.

Craig ignored the screams and let go of the pin, still stuck in her, staring her in the eyes as he waited for her to calm down and stop screaming, the same for Harry who seemed to have given up yelling down the radio.

Craig looked up to Greg who was visibly disturbed by what they were doing, but held his resolve and gripped her hard, one hand around her pony tail, his other slung around her neck in a headlock.

When she finally calmed and stopped screaming, although still heaving and breathing hard, Craig spoke calmly back into the radio speaker lying on the table only a few feet away.

"Harry, I just stuck a pin into her right nipple. I have lots more of these pins and she has a lot of sensitive places I could put them."

"Goddamn it!"

"Are you gonna play ball?"

"Fuck! Alright! Leave her alone! It's a deal! We leave you alone, you don't hurt her." The defeat in his voice was obvious.

Craig quickly pulled the pin out again and stepped away from her and motioned for Greg to do the same. Sarah winced and sobbed and tried to pull herself into a fetal position, her breast stinging badly.

"Alright Harry. I have Michael and Sarah trapped in a house. You will never find it, so don't bother looking. If you do, I'll rape her into a coma and leave her for the zombies to find and eat alive, understand?"

"Alright alright. Fucking hell!"

"Good boy. Now, I won't hurt her. I'll keep her prisoner, but she'll be fed, kept warm and comfortable. I'll look after her. No dirty tricks."

"Alright." Harry replied, his voice dead and devoid of emotion, an air of finality lingering.

"Out."

"Out."

Craig leaned forward and switched the radio off. Greg stood stunned, his hands shaking as he stared at the back of Sarah head.

"Greg." Craig tried to get his attention, but he seemed lost in a stupor. "Greg!" he shouted, snapping him out of his daydream.

"Yeah?"

"Go get Sarah and Michael's clothes. It's time to take them back and put them in the police cells back on the island."

"Right… right." he stepped slowly towards the cellar doorway and disappeared down.

Craig looked down at Sarah, quivering and sobbing. "You're lucky your boyfriend loves you."

She looked up at him, tears streaming down her face and looked back down, ashamed and scared.

oooo00oooo

The trip back to Phillip Island was uneventful in that neither Michael nor Sarah said a word, still bound by their shackles, and there were hardly any zombies roaming around on the roads and fields.

Neither did Greg or Craig say anything.

The mood was very subdued and heavy.

When they finally arrived back in town, everyone was shocked to see Michael and Sarah paraded in front of them as a town meeting was called and the evidence against them was presented. Not just the initial radio conversation between Sarah and Harry, but also the interrogation in the cellar where Sarah explained the details of the bikers in Moe. Craig had the foresight to record that as well. It was all there. Unambiguous and self-explanatory.

The crowd agreed almost without hesitation or dissent. Michael and Sarah were to be confined to separate cells in the island's solitary police station.

With the matter dealt with, Craig was nominated for, and was promptly approved as the official leader of the Phillip Island survivors.

It was almost ironic that the first of several survivors from abroad started arriving at the front gates that afternoon, responding to the message that had been playing on the radio, seeking asylum and safety.


	31. Sisterly love

**Dead Opportunities: Book 2**

**A New World Rises**

**Chapter 5: Sisterly love**

When it rains, it pours, Craig mused to himself as he stood before the gathered crowd before him. Since yesterday, there had been seven separate trucks that had arrived at the front gates, bringing with them 26 new residents, mostly families. Phillip Island's population had, in the short time, more than doubled. The residents had welcomed them with open arms and brought out hot food and blankets to ward away the bitter winter cold and sat them all down in front of a fire.

They were all farming families from either the north or east and had responded to the radio messages seeking safety and asylum. Craig shifted his weight as he stood at the front of the lounge room of the largest house on the island, an opulent holiday mansion that used to belong to a CEO of a major company no one could remember.

"Good afternoon, all. For those of you who haven't met me yet, my name is Craig Bronson. I am, for all intents and purposes, the leader of this place. I personally am a survivor from Frankston and Inverloch. I heard the same message I'm sure you all heard and arrived here about a week ago.

No doubt you've all been through some traumatic and sad times, but you should all be proud that you have survived. As you can see, we are safe here. There is no zombie threat on this island, food is plentiful and your beds will be warm and comfortable." He cast a glance over one little girl, only 5 years old cradling a cup of hot chocolate, looking up at him with puppy-dog eyes.

"As leader of this town, I ask that you let me know if there are any issues or suggestions that you have. Just let me know. However, whilst you are here, I'm sure you can appreciate that you will need to earn your keep by helping out around here, whether it's cooking, cleaning, building, guard duty or doing supply runs. We won't survive if we don't work together.

Now, to make you all feel welcome, we will be having a nice dinner tonight at Fisherman, a nice restaurant down near the beach. We'll be having a BBQ. Margaret tells me she's organised games and activities for young and old, so be ready to have some fun. It's something we need to make sure we have enough of here. We'll all lost something or someone special to us in these times so far.

But, to get back to business, does anyone have anything they want to ask about or discuss while we are all here?"

A middle aged man, the father of a family of 4, raised his hand and spoke. "On our way here, we heard a radio message saying that Moe is also a safe zone. Do you know about this?"

Craig gripped his hands in front of him and chose his words carefully, "Uhh, yeah we do. Apparently, the town is ruled by bikers. We would not advise joining with them. Two of our residents are sitting in police cells as prisoners. One was a woman from Moe, sent here to under-mine Phillip's defences so they could roll in and take this place over. Rapists and killers."

"Really?" he replied, stunned.

"Yes." Craig shifted a little uncomfortably on his feet. "It seems this zombie plague has brought out some of the worst of humanity, not just survivors like us. Were are a peaceful town, but we need to be careful of robbers and criminals."

Everyone around the room mumbled and whispered at the prospect. Craig could see Greg stare at him as he leaned against a doorway, his arms folded.

"Yes, um…. Is there anything else? Any other questions?"

The same man as before spoke up again. "We heard some other calls on our radio. We couldn't do anything, we had no guns or anything, but we spoke on our radio to someone who said she and her sister were trapped in their house, down on the Peninsula, Red Hill. We should rescue them. Do we have guns?"

"Yes, we do. What did this woman say?"

"She was trapped in her house. She had food and water stockpiled, but zombies had surrounded her house. She's with her younger sister, in their twenties I think she said."

Craig felt the eyes of everyone in the room bore into him, all saying the same thing.

"Right. Well we better see if we can raise them on the radio and see if we can rescue them. Um… does anyone else have anything else to discuss? Any other survivors you heard of on the way here?"

The room was silent.

Craig rested his hands on his hips and looked up to Greg at the back of the room. "Right, Greg let's get on the radio and see if we can raise her. We'll need to put a team together. You and me and whoever else wants to volunteer."

"Right." He said back coldly.

Craig looked back down at the man who had spoken up previously, "Sorry, mate. What's your name again?"

"Con Mitra."

"Alright Con, let's go see if we can talk to this woman. For everyone else, I trust you've all been introduced to Nico and Maria. They'll look after you and keep you comfortable. I'll leave you in their hands."

oooo00oooo

Con worked the radio in the council office as Greg and Craig stood behind him, watching him flick switches and dials as he tried to dial in Sharon's frequency and raise her. Con was a rather large man, a truck driver by trade with an equally rotund wife, Beth. He was Greek and she was blonde Australian. Their kids were two young boys, aged 7 and 9, both soccer nuts. They were playing a small game of indoor soccer with the rest of the kids back in the gym. Con joked that his boys would likely be the world's greatest soccer players at the moment, given the decreased pool of talent.

It didn't take long until Con grabbed the microphone and spoke, "Sharon, it's Con. You there?"

Nothing. No response.

"Sharon? It's Con, you there? Please answer."

Cold soft static wafted out of the speaker in reply.

"Sharon?" Con tried again after a few minutes pause. "I dunno if she's there.."

"Try again." Greg said.

A sharp reply screamed through the speakers just as Con was about to speak again, "Con! Con! It's Sharon! Oh God! It's good to hear you." The relief in her voice was obvious. Her voice faded as she shouted off the microphone "Mel! It's Con again! (muffle) Yeah, he sounds nice doesn't he?"

Con shifted a little uncomfortably in his chair, "Sharon. Are you OK?"

"Yeah, no improvement since this morning. Those prick zombies have me surrounded. They can't get in, but I need to get food. I'm running out! Melanie's running out!"

"Sharon, we made it to Phillip Island. There's a safe zone here. I'm gonna hand you over to the leader OK?" he handed the mic up to Craig.

"Sharon? My name's Craig. I'm in charge of Phillip Island. Where are you? What's going on where you are?"

"Ok, um, I'm in Red Hill. I've got a house up here, it's all boarded up and secure. I'm here with my sister, Melanie. We're OK, but we've almost run out of food, we got water though. No guns or weapons really. We're stuck here. Melanie needs some more food. She's hungry."

"OK, Sharon, how many zombies are outside?"

"Uh, I counted about thirty half an hour ago. My house is double story, so I just had a look from the balcony. I had to do it, because Melanie doesn't like heights. There's some zombies locked in the basement as well. The door's secure though. They aren't getting in."

"Ok, that's good, Sharon. Um, what's your property like? What is it exactly?"

"Uh, it's a stone house, old style, y'know? It's my Mum's. I dunno where she is, I think she's dead. But uh, anyway, it's on a back road, dirt road, and it's pretty muddy here."

"Sharon, how secure is your home?"

"Oh, there's no way their getting in. The doors and windows are really secured. They're made from metal, mostly."

"Alright, so what's the easiest way to get into your place?"

"With a car? Garage. Roller shutter door and it's connected to the house. You could drive in, close the door behind you and then drive back out again. I would like to do that, but the car's parked outside."

"What kind of car is it?"

"Blue."

Craig couldn't help but laugh as Greg also tried to stifle a giggle. Sharon heard it down the radio and replied, "Hey! Did I just say something really blonde?"

"Yeah." Craig smiled.

"Sorry, um, I dunno what make it is exactly, but it's a 4WD, a sorta new one. Sorry. I'm not blonde, but Melanie is though. Hey! She'd like you, I'm sure of it." Her voice trailed off again as she shouted into the background. "Hey Mel! This guy sounds better than that Con guy!"

Craig, Con and Greg all looked at each other, frowning and puzzled at Sharon's behaviour. Greg shrugged his shoulders, bemused. Craig spoke into the mic again. "It's OK. Hey, what's your address, we'll come get you."

"Really? Oh great! It's uh, 55 Uplands Drive, Red Hill, 3937, Victoria, Australia."

Craig couldn't help but look up at Greg again, who smirked back at him, shaking his head. "Uh.. right. We'll come get you. I think we know where Australia is."

"Oh uh.. right. Well, when do you think you'll come? I'll put on my nice shoes." Her voice trailed off again, shouting in the background, "Hey Mel! Get my red shoes! No, not those ones you dumb bitch!"

Craig cupped his hand over the microphone and whispered to Greg, "Are we sure we want to rescue this girl? She sounds nuts!"

Greg simply shrugged again.

"Uh, Sharon, we'll come over soon. We'll get our stuff together and we should be able to get to you in about an hour or so. We'll radio you again when we get close, OK?"

"Goddamn it, Mel! Uh, sorry, yeah. I'll be here waiting for you. I'll have all my bells and whistles on! Mwah!"

Craig slowly put the receiver down and swivelled his chair around as the three of them stared at each other in silence.

"She sounds crazy." Greg said bluntly.

Craig and Con simply nodded in reply.

"We should still rescue her though." Greg said simply. "We can't leave anyone behind."

Craig nodded. "Right. I'm thinking we take my Landcruiser 4WD, drive it into the garage and close the door behind, get her and Melanie and drive back out again, mowing down the zombies the whole time."

Greg nodded, "OK, we should get moving now, before it gets too dark."

oooo00oooo

Craig and Greg were the only ones who volunteered for the rescue mission. It didn't phase them much, given the plan, everything should proceed relatively smoothly. Drive in and drive out. Easy.

The mood in the Landcruiser was subdued as Greg passed through the front gates, driving around a stray zombie in the afternoon gloom.

"Craig. What's your story? Where did you learn to do that torture shit to Sarah?"

"Is that what's been bothering you?"

"What do you mean?"

"You've been a bit quiet these past couple of days."

"Yeah, well. What's your _real_ story?" he asked as he eased the car down onto the highway to the north east.

Craig inhaled, sighing as he reeled off the now familiar explanation "Tried to rob a bank once. Got caught. Went to prison and was butt fucked and beaten up for two years by friends of a loan shark I owed money to."

"No shit!" Greg exclaimed, dumbstruck.

Craig simply stared ahead into the encroaching gloom through the windshield as Greg drove down the highway. "Yeah, wasn't exactly the highlight of my life, but it made me tough. No one walks over me. As soon as you let anyone walk over you once, they'll treat you like a bitch for the rest of your life."

Greg didn't reply, he just kept his eyes on the road.

"I was just trying to protect my family when I tried to rob that bank. My wife divorced me and I lost the kids. Lost everything." His voice trailed off as he grabbed the overhead clothes handle, leaning his head against the window, feeling the glass vibrate against his skull.

"Sounds like you didn't lose much when this whole thing started."

"No. If anything, it's an opportunity. Y'know, to fix things. Start again."

"Yeah…." Greg replied morosely, "Bit the same for me I s'pose."

Craig leaned up in his seat, off of the window. "How's that?"

"When Marli died, I was thinking of selling the farm. Y'know. Retire and live a comfortable life. I s'pose now I've sorta got that life."

"Well, let's make sure we stay alive to enjoy it."

Greg smiled as he watched the sun set before him, "Yeah."

oooo00oooo

The trip down the highways to the Mornington Peninsula was largely uneventful. Night quickly descended and whatever zombies were present in the fields and streets were invisible from the inside of the car. All was dark and hidden.

However, as the pulled off the peninsula highway, turning off at the Red Hill/Flinders turn off, Greg and Craig became alert and ready for danger as the road thinned and Greg turned down another street. The roads were strewn with various pieces of debris and tree bark and leaves. The peninsula was a very leafy area, known for its wineries and expensive country real estate. The restaurants and vineyards passed by them, invisible in the night except for the silhouette of the vines lining the fields in the moon light. Their bare and straggled branches almost looked as though they might reach out at them from the road side. It was difficult to tell if they were indeed harmless plants or bloodthirsty zombies.

Whatever zombies around were nowhere to be seen as they cruised through the side roads and back roads, Craig directing him where to go from the Melways street directory stashed in the car. He grabbed and checked his MP5 as Greg turned into a steep and uneven dirt road, the Toyota bouncing over the stones and rocks as he eased over them, the dirt track flattening out and straightening suddenly.

"Better get her on the radio, should be at the end of this road, half a kilometre." Greg said coolly, eyeing the darkness suspiciously.

Craig reached for the radio mounted in the dash and held the receiver, "Sharon, this is Craig, we're almost there. Do you copy?"

Almost straight away, she replied, "Hey Craig! Nice to hear you again. Where are you?"

"We've just turned into your street. We should be there in a few minutes. Are you ready for us?"

"Yeah. I'm dressed, Mel's dressed. We're both dressed." She giggled.

Greg and Craig exchanged a doubtful and uncomfortable look, "Sharon, how many zombies are around?"

"Same as before I think."

"Ok, we're gonna come in the garage like we talked about before, OK?"

"Oh, that's not gonna work." She said simply.

"Why not?"

"The door's busted. Didn't I tell you?"

Greg and Craig looked at each other again, Greg staring back, annoyed and incredulous. Craig gripped and squeezed the receiver in frustration, but kept his voice calm, "OK, Sharon. We need to figure out another way in."

"Uh, there's the front door…." She said almost absently.

Craig was losing patience, but he had an idea, "Sharon, how high is the balcony from the ground?"

"Why?"

Craig closed his eyes and tried not to shout at her, "Would I be able to climb up if I'm on a 4WD."

"Well, what colour is your 4WD?"

"What the fuck?" Greg swore as Craig spoke back quickly through gritted teeth.

"It doesn't matter, Sharon. Could I get up?"

"Well, yeah I s'pose."

"Alright, we'll see you soon." Craig hung the receiver down before he broke it in frustration.

"What are you thinking, mate?" Greg asked, obviously frustrated by the situation and Sharon's lack of seriousness.

"I'll get up on the car roof. You drive me up to the house, I'll jump and get onto the balcony and you drive away. I'll secure the house, shoot down any zombies outside, and you come and get me again when it's clear."

"Right. Shit!"

Illuminated in the highlights before them was a zombie, suddenly appearing before them in the white light. Greg floored down the accelerator and they braced as the zombie thumped dully against the front bull bar and disappeared, the car bouncing and bucking as it ran over it.

Craig undid his seatbelt and slung the MP5 around his shoulder. He opened the sunroof all the way, letting in great gusts of cold wind.

"Get ready Craig, we're almost there!" he shouted above the noise.

Craig wriggled and pulled himself up as he poked his head and shoulders through the sun roof and stood up on his seat. The cold wind buffeted against him and cut into his eyes. All he could see was the outline of overhanging tree branches and the muddy road illuminated by the headlights. Whatever farmhouses and streetlights were in the distance were hidden, all lights turned off.

Darkness.

Craig turned around and gripped the edge of the sun roof in front of him, bracing his waist against the edge as Greg turned the car down into a driveway. The scene before him, caused him to freeze.

Sharon's stone house was almost indistinguishable through the crowd of rotten and filthy zombies that were milling about directly in front of them. They were standing at the front of the house, 3 deep as they either struggled against the walls as though trying to climb up or bumping into each other as they walked around aimlessly. Craig could see their bodies were thin and sagging, the decay having eaten much of them away, walking corpses now. Rotten.

They all progressively turned around and charged towards them as Greg urged the 4WD onward, ready to mow them down. Craig noticed they weren't running, but more stumbling, some of them falling over as they bumped into each other amongst the seething mass. He watched with morbid fascination as the first couple of zombies thumped against the bull bar, their frail bodies snapping back and away in a painful whiplash and fell down and under the car in an instant. They seemed to look up at him as they fell, almost pleading up to him to spare them.

The 4WD bucked and bounced quite violently as the crowd barrelled into the bull bar and were shoved back, bones snapping and their groans drowned out by the revving engine, spooling up as Greg struggled to find grip and maintain momentum. Craig grasped the edge of the sunroof, as the car swerved to the side and snapped back again, zombies slapping into the driver door, swatted back onto the ground, only to be crushed by the back wheel, their flesh torn by the spinning tyre.

"Craig, get ready!" Greg yelled up as he wrestled with the wheel, trying to steady the car as the pack of charging zombies suddenly dissipated and the way cleared.

Craig looked into the gloom and could see the edge of the house appear, the railing for the balcony a dark silhouette in the headlights. Greg swerved the car to its side, parking the 4WD rather neatly against the wall with a foot of spare room.

"Go go go!" Greg yelled as Craig clambered up and out of the sun roof, the MP5 bumping and rattling awkwardly over his shoulder as he balanced and planted his right boot on the car's roof. In a smooth motion, he pushed on his footing and jumped out towards the balcony, grabbing the wooden railing, his arms wrapping around a stump, his chest thumping into the walls kncking the breath out of him. The edges of the squared wooden plank bit and dug into his forearms, but he ignored the pain and searched desperately for a foothold to hoist himself up.

Thankful that the house was made of stone, he found a secure piece of jutting rock to plant the toe of his boot and pull himself up, climbing the latticed railing and falling over the top, crashing down on his back onto the balcony deck.

"Go go!" he managed to yell out as he struggled to his feet and looked down as Greg fired the engine back up and swerved back out into the driveway. The headlights illuminated the broken fields of zombies wriggling and struggling around in the mud, arms and legs broken and useless. Greg barrelled over them and ran down a couple of zombies still on their feet as he drove away, back down the driveway and finally out into the street.

"Craig? You there?"

Craig reached for the walkie talkie he had strapped to his belt, thankful he didn't break it before when he tumbled onto the decking, "Greg, yeah, I'm OK. I made it!"

"Good good. I'm fine. Nothing broken and the car seems OK. Let me know when you want me to come back. I'll head home."

"Roger." Craig switched the walkie talkie off and set it back into the latch strapped onto his belt. The darkness was almost pitch black and he had to do it by feel. His adrenaline was pumping as he heard the wailing of the broken zombies from below, crushed and still twitching in the muddy driveway. It prompted him to unsling his MP5 and turn around. He felt for and found the little torch he had strapped to the barrel of the gun and the light suddenly illuminated the balcony and doorway in front of him.

The balcony entrance back inside must have been walled with glass as he saw the reflection of his torchlight beaming back at him, hiding whatever was inside. His heart was pumping loudly in his ears and his fingers felt numb and cold as he carefully stepped forward for the glass sliding door.

Just as he reached for the handle, something came out of nowhere and bumped into the door in front of him, a human figure in a red tracksuit. Craig jumped back with a yelp and almost fired out of reflex as he saw the figure of a young woman smile and wave at him. The woman, presumably Sharon, opened the sliding door.

"Hello!"

Craig had to catch his breath, the fright having thrust the air out of his lungs. "Jesus Christ! Don't do that!"

Sharon looked puzzled, "What? Wait, are you Craig?"

"Yeah, you're Sharon?"

"Yeah, Melanie's inside. She's been a bit of a shit today. Hey don't shine that light in my face! It hurts, y'know!" She almost yelled as though she was addressing the mailman.

Craig lowered the torch light and MP5 to the floor at her feet, "C'mon let's get inside."

"OK." She smiled and bobbed her head, her short curly brown hair bouncing over her cheeks as she turned and stepped back through the door way.

Craig followed in behind her and closed the door behind him. The room was in total darkness except for his torch light. "Hey, you got some light?"

"Nah, sorry. All my candles burned out and the lights don't work. Bastards at the power company cut me off!" she exclaimed loudly, complaining.

Craig walked behind her, shining his torch at her feet as she led him through a carpeted room and to a stair way, which opened up beneath them. He suddenly felt on edge and very uncomfortable as she resumed complaining.

"Yeah, how could I pay the power bill when they don't send me one? They cut me off! Those bastards. Anyway, would you like a drink?"

"Uh, no thanks." He mumbled back as they reached the bottom of the stairs and she walked on to the left.

"Suit yourself. Let me introduce you to Melanie. She's just through here."

Craig tensed and felt very hot and nervous as he heard a gruff voice ahead of him as Sharon walked ahead on the edge of the beam of his torch light, a wooden chair and rug passing by him, the rest of the room and walls hidden by the darkness around him. He felt very uncomfortable not being able to see anything outside of his torch beam.

"Here, over here." Sharon's voice wafted out of the darkness ahead of him. He heard it again. A grunting sound.

"Where?" Craig angled his torch up and took in the sight before him. With a yelp, he saw Sharon standing next to a woman, her skin a horrible shade of green and grey, sagging and wrinkled, her eyes dark and blank, her teeth yellow and decayed.

A zombie.

"Melanie, this is Craig. Craig, Melanie."


	32. In The Dark

**Dead Opportunities: Book 2**

**A New World Rises**

**Chapter 6: In The Dark**

"Melanie, this is Craig. Craig, Melanie."

Craig's eyes went wide in horror and his body refused to move as he took in the grotesque sight, illuminated before him by his flash light. Melanie was a zombie, her skin pale grey and wrinkled, her hair matted and clumped, the whites of her eyes now having degraded to a sick shade of green-grey.

She seemed to stare dumbly back at him and smiled as though reacting politely to the introduction, but her grin showed off her rotten and brown teeth. She suddenly hissed and charged forward.

Out of panic and reflex, Craig fired, the bark of the machine gun filling his ears and stunning him. He stumbled backwards, tripped and fell uncomfortably against something. As he gathered himself, the wooden frame and soft fabric of a couch jutting into his back, he struggled to point the torchlight back where the zombie had been. All he could see was a blank wall and nightstand in front of him. The collar of his jacket seemed much too tight around his neck as he struggled to breath in the heat, claustrophobia enveloping around him, panicking in the darkness.

"Jesus Christ, what the fuck's wrong with you!" Sharon shouted at him from somewhere, hidden in the pitch black.

Rattled and panicking, he panned his gun and torch back and forth trying to find where the zombie went, hoping he had killed it. He saw fingers on a hand sticking out on the edge of his torch light, casting creepy shadows along the floor. It looked like a giant black spider against the green carpet, jiggling and jumping as the torchlight shook and wavered in his hands.

"You bastard! You goddamn bastard! You killed Mel!" Sharon yelled, her voice angry and furious, spilling out from the darkness somewhere to his right.

His breath hot and fast, he stepped forward, angling the torch light down. As he stepped around the night stand in front of him, he could see Melanie's torn and bloody body crumpled on the floor. The machine gun fire had almost blown her head and chest apart, cutting it in half, her face unrecognisable.

Looking the body over, he could see the glint of metal around her ankles. She had been shackled to the floor.

"Sharon, what's the fuck's wrong with you? She's a zombie!"

"You sick fuck! You killed her!" she screamed back. Craig snapped his gun over to her direction as he heard her footsteps rushing towards him, no trailing off away from him. He quickly caught a glimpse of her figure disappear around a corner, down a short hallway as her screaming voice echoed through the house.

"You're gonna fucking get it! Say hello to my friends!"

He stepped forward to try and follow her, but froze as he heard what sounded like chains rattling and a door opening somewhere ahead of him in the darkness.

"Come on boys! Go get him!" she screamed again, greeted by a rush of loud thumping footsteps and growling.

All of the hair on Craig's body seemed to stand on end and his body temperature dropped suddenly as the cold realisation hit him, she had set free the zombies locked in her basement.

"Oh fuck!" he whispered to himself as he tried to think of how to handle the situation. The idea dawned on him immediately. If he couldn't see them in the darkness, they wouldn't be able to see him either.

Without missing a beat, he found and flicked the switch on his torch off and crouched to the floor as pitch black darkness enveloped around him, everything was invisible.

Blind.

He could hear rushed footsteps and crashing somewhere further down as the zombies surged through the house. Feeling around in front of him, he followed the outline of a couch, reaching the end and found what felt like the corner of the room. Careful not to make any noise, he stepped into his little hiding spot as he heard someone rush into the room and crash into something behind him, growling and grunting.

He sat and hid, crouched behind the edge of the couch in the complete darkness, listening as the zombie lurched around and suddenly stopped.

All was silent.

Sweat poured down the side of his face as he struggled to relax his breathing, focusing on the rhythm and trying to remain still. At that moment, he cursed his heartbeat, beating loudly in his ears, angry at it as though it was a beacon alerting his presence to the monster.

Craig fingered the trigger of the MP5, clutched tight across his chest and aimed uselessly at the wall beside him as he listened. He could hear the soft grumbling of the monster before him and his eyes, wide in the darkness, seemed to open wider as he heard the disgusting and unmistakable sound of ripping flesh.

The sound was sickening, but his disgust instantly melted away as he heard another flurry of footsteps rush in towards him. He flinched as he could see the faint outline of a figure in the dark gloom, walking into the centre of the room and turn away from him, seemingly having detected the other zombie tearing into Melanie's corpse on the floor. He saw the faint outline and shadows of muscle and naked skin as the figure bent down and disappeared below the faint moonlight streaming in through a crack in a barricaded window, down to the floor.

Craig could feel hot bile in his throat as he heard the sickening tearing sound amplified by the second zombie, interrupted intermittently as they grunted or moaned, seemingly enjoying themselves.

More movement and footsteps grabbed his attention and he could make out the faint outline of two more figures, side by side step into the room. He could see the matted and messy hair on one of them, a woman standing unusually tall, swaying as it scanned its dark surroundings, turning over to its right and disappearing down out of the light, heading for the corpse like the others.

The ripping and tearing was louder now, the muffled grunts and moans, each sounding slightly different to each other, also louder and more frequent, as though talking to each other. They seemed almost relaxed and happy in the darkness, relishing the meal before them.

Craig was strangely fascinated as he listened, knowing that he was bearing witness to this carnage, this desecration. The thrill of detection heightened the perverse fascination, as though he was a boy spying on the girl's change rooms.

He waited, sitting uncomfortably in the tight corner, conscious of the cold steel of the trigger guard caressed by his idle finger, his feet beginning to tingle from pins and needles. Two full minutes had passed and the zombie continued their meal, lost in the dark, but their presence unmistakable.

Confident that the four zombie before him were the only ones, he reach up and grasped the edge of the couch, intending to rise and shoot the zombies down by surprise. Very slowly and nervously, he adjusted his posture and footing, rising up from the floor as silently as he could. He was careful to make sure the machine gun was clutched tightly is his right hand and held away from his body so it did not rub and make any noise. Eyeing the ravenous group in the darkness before him, he slowly managed to rise fully on his feet and extend up, standing in the corner, the machine gun trained down to the floor by Melanie's body.

Sweat threatened to blind him as it poured down his forehead, soaking his hair and eyebrows, but he focussed and stepped forward carefully, consciously planting his steps and rolling his feet as he moved forward, not making a sound.

One step at a time, the sick and wet sound of tearing flesh still threatening to make him heave and vomit on the spot, he continued to step forward, looking down the sights of his gun into the black nothing behind the nightstand where he knew the monsters were feasting. It was incredibly unnerving to know that four ravenous and hungry monsters were right there in front of him, 3 metres away, yet he could not see them.

Slowly, he inhaled and exhaled, steadying his resolve and placing his finger over the trigger, getting ready to fire. The adrenaline and fear was unbelievable, energy and ice surging through his veins at the same time, his senses heightened and excited as he prepared for the sudden rush.

1

2

3

He fingered the switch for the torch attached to the MP5 and light spewed out, lighting up the four grotesque and disgusting monsters before him, bent over Melanie's body, her intestines snaking and spilling out onto the floor. He couldn't help but gasp and hesitate for a split moment as they all, in almost perfect unison, leaned back up and turned to regard him, their faces covered in blood, but open in surprise. It seemed almost comical in that instant, as though you could expect them to raise their hands in defeat and babble that it wasn't them, they didn't do it. It was the other zombie. I swear!

Scared shitless and cognisant of the stark danger of further hesitation, he pressed down the trigger and flinched as the gun erupted and spewed forth its metal death. The muzzle flash ignited the room like a strobe light, the complete outlines and features of the room around him illuminated for a nanosecond with each shot, long enough to see the head of the first zombie closest to him explode under the barrage.

He panned the gun right, across the group and they seemed like deer stuck in headlights, frozen in place as the gun fire tore each one apart, decapitating the last as the trigger went slack and the gun made a hollow pinging sound.

All of the zombies were dead in a bloody mess and his gun was empty. All in the space of only three split seconds.

He reached down for another clip in his belt, but spun around as he heard running footsteps towards him.

"DIE!"

He shone the flashlight towards the noise, down the hallway and lit up Sharon running towards him, brandishing a large knife. She flinched as she barrelled towards him, the light blinding her and she promptly tripped and fell to the floor, falling beneath the flashlight's beam of light into the darkness.

Craig flinched and pointed the light down at her and froze as he saw the gruesome sight before him. Sharon's knife was wedged under her chin, impaling her through the soft of her jaw, almost to the hilt.

"Uck! Uck!" she twitched and choked, her eyes wide and confused, seemingly unable to comprehend what had just happened as Craig simply stood and watched, transfixed by her confused pain.

Her eyes filled with tears as she clumsily crawled towards him and rolled to her side. Craig stepped back in horror as she reached for the knife handle sticking out of her chin and pulled it out with a sicking, blood curdling grunt. The knife blade was slick with blood, shining black red in the torchlight, dribbling down her hand and her white knuckles, clutching tightly, like a death grip.

"Fug oo!" she choked out, her eyes filling with tears but burning death and hatred at him, as she reached out and dragged herself towards him on the floor.

Craig spun around, looking for a weapon. His gun was empty and he had no other weapon on him. However, he quickly found the nightstand by the dead zombies behind him and grabbed it, facing back towards Sharon who was gazing up at him, blood pouring and squirting from her mouth.

"Fug oo!" she gurgled, drowning in her own blood as she struggled and crawled on, the knife still gripped in her hand, scraping into the floor, the light from the machine gun slung around his shoulder skewed off to her left and bathing her in shadows and an eerie soft glow.

Craig lifted the small table over his head, Sharon's eyes going wide as she comprehended the death that was coming.

"Fuck you! Bitch!"

With all he had, he swung the table down and smacked it directly down on her head, his eyes flinching shut at the loud crash. He quickly stepped back and let go of the table, sending it bouncing away across the carpeted floor as he grabbed and pointed the gun back on her, bathing her in light again.

She was dead. A white shard of bone stuck out of the top of her head, between the brown curls of her hair, clumped with dark blood and brain matter. Her arms snaked along the floor towards him, her hands open and fingers twitching, as though still trying to grab for him, even in death.

oooo00oooo

The morning air was crisp and cold, the sunshine streamed through the windows, bathing the study in a golden glow. The view out over the window would have been idyllic had it not been spoiled by the twitching zombies, broken and stranded in the muddy driveway.

"Greg." He said wearily into the radio receiver. "Greg you there?"

"Craig! You OK?"

"Yeah, I'm fine. Bit tired, though. Didn't sleep well last night."

"Yeah, mate. Did you get Sharon and Melanie?"

Craig couldn't help but laugh dejectedly and sigh before he responded, "You could say that."


	33. Memories and Regrets

**Dead Opportunities: Book 2**

**A New World Rises**

**Chapter 7: Memories and Regrets**

The trip back to Phillip Island was quiet and uncomfortable. Greg tried to get Craig to retell what happened the night before, but Craig wasn't particularly forthcoming with details. Only that Sharon was crazy and attacked him.

There wasn't much to salvage from the house either. There was nothing that Sharon had that they didn't already back home. It was a small wonder the radio she had been using had managed to function all this time. The wiring was frayed and the microphone had to be held at a certain and awkward angle for it to work.

So they left, empty handed, Craig simply resting his face against the Landcruiser's window, watching raindrops dribble down the glass.

Finally, they arrived back home to a subdued welcome, the rain kept everyone inside and busy with their own activities. It seemed a lonely, indoors type of day. It did nothing to lift Craig's sagging spirits. He sauntered off to his own little commandeered house, absently dismissing Greg away and climbed into bed.

His tiredness kept him inside for the rest of the day, no sleep whatsoever from the night before at Sharon's house. The horrible encounter in the dark with those zombies and Sharon charging out of nowhere kept playing back again in his mind and alternate scenarios kept him awake. What if I made a noise when I tried to creep up on those zombies? What if there were others besides those four I killed that could have rushed me when my gun ran dry?

Sharon's crazed visage managed to flash before his eyes whenever sleep tried to sink him down, jolting him awake again in his gloomy dark room. Every time thinking he was back there in the darkness, zombies about to charge through the door and eat him alive.

The weight of his bed sheets felt like the lid of a suffocating coffin, pushing him down, the woollen threads pricking into his neck, itching and irritating. The air suddenly seemed stifling and hot, as though trapped in a sauna. Streams of sweat running down his face, stinging his eyes.

Can't breath.

Suddenly, he was naked and alone in a sparkling white shower cubicle, the tiles gleaming against the harsh burning light of buzzing over head bulbs. Everything seemed to unnaturally clean. Heady ammonium wafted into his lungs and the shower head suddenly erupted with a spluttering cough. The water was ice cold and made him flinch back through a plastic shower curtain and out into the open as it stabbed down onto his back, trickles of ice snaking down his chest and legs, making him shiver violently, clutching himself.

He gasped and coughed at the cold, trying to gather his senses and establish where he was. It was a large shower block, he recognised it from his prison days, but it was unnaturally shiny and clean, unlike the grimy washroom he knew well. Shower heads and taps lined the walls around him, stabbing out of the bright tiled walls like fangs. His gasps echoed through the empty space and he eyed doorways on the left and right fearfully, unable to see through them. The room seemed to bend inward, pushing the teeth-like shower heads and doorways towards him, like a giant mouth closing around him.

Water started to dribble in through the open doorways and across the concrete floor into the room. Like little translucent snakes weaving and meandering, the two streams opposite each other dribbled innocently along until they met in the centre of the room. Craig watched, transfixed as the water suddenly turned right towards him in a single stream.

The gurgle of the running shower behind him seemed to entice the encroaching river as it dribbled along in a dead straight line towards him. Craig stood frozen and watched as the little stream simply snaked between his legs and ran down the shower plug hole behind.

A sound, but not quite a sound, seemed to echo through the bare shower block. The air seemed to squeeze and constrict slightly as Craig followed his line of sight back along the dribbling water stream, between his legs, back to the centre of the room and diverge left and right back through the opposing entry ways before him.

"Craigy boy……"

That voice.

I know that voice.

The water still dribbling in through the doorway on the right started to tinge a dark red.

"Craaaaaaaiiig……" the voice whispered again.

Oh god, oh god, Craig's mind raced. Billy. Oh fuck no! Not him.

"That's right, my boy……"

Craig stepped back as whispered voice teasingly wafted through the hall, the ice cold shower jolted him back forward.

"Does my little slut remember me?"

William "Billy" Skinner. One half of a prisoner duo that ruled Barwon prison where Craig spent his two year jail term. Rapist, murderer, stand over man. Ruthless. Big brother to…

"Make that _our_ little slut…." Another voice seemed to scratch through the icy air.

Robert "Bob" Skinner. The other half. Little brother, but just as ruthless and callous.

Billy and Bob.

Craig clutched his hands over his shrunken and exposed groin as the gravity of the nightmare started to sink in. Memories of violent encounters with the pair in a seemingly former life raced through his mind and made him quiver with fear, terrified at being transported back to this place. The worst days of his life.

The water stream from the other door way also tinged red as the voice spoke again.

"After all, sharing is caring….. Isn't that right?"

"Oh yeah. Plenty of little Craigy to go around….."

Oh God, oh fuck! Craig started to gasp for air and tears welled up as he looked desperately for a way out.

He found none.

Trapped as the water turned dark red all around him. Even the shower water behind him rained down black red, thick and clumped as it clung to the plastic shower curtain and slowly dribbled down to the plug below with a sickening gurgle. The air seemed to thicken and redden all around him, filling his nostrils, the stench of death and dead bodies.

"Hey bro, I don't know 'bout you, but Craigy's been away for a long time."

"Yeah, bro. I'm feelin' a little bit…… nostalgic."

"You ready, Craigy boy?"

Craig screamed out into the empty room, his shouts unable to drown out to think gurgle of the blood raining down behind him. "FUCK OFF! Leave me alone!"

"Now Craigy boy….. be a good little slut….."

"no….." Craig whimpered, his groin and buttocks clutching up, his stomach threatening to tighten and squeeze, sending hot bubbling vomit surging up. This was not happening….. please.

"That's a good boy….."

Craig froze as he heard the unmistakable sound of a splashing step into a puddle. He looked to his right and saw a foot peeking through the doorway, only it had no skin. The ligaments and muscle underneath were exposed to the air.

Craig's lungs froze and refused to draw breath as the figure stepped through the doorway completely. Despite the rotten and exposed flesh that clothed the figure, fat and tall, Craig could not help but stare at the creature's eyes. Icy blue, staring right back and promising pain. The eyes were unmistakable.

They belonged to Billy.

He heard the sound of another splash and he turned to see another skinless human figure step out into the open on the other side and stare back at him. Eyes black and dull, like a shark's eyes.

Bob.

The corpses smiled, lips exposing yellow rotten teeth, broken and splintered.

"no…" Craig whimpered again, stepping back slightly, frozen in fear.

Suddenly, the two corpses broke out in a sprint towards him and Craig screamed at the top of his lungs as they bowled into him, sending him crashing back into the shower cubicle, through the curtain and smacking into the cold tiles. Blood rained down, choking and drowning the breath out of him, as he scrambled to keep the two corpses off him, grabbing and smothering him.

Can't breath.

Gonna die!

Can't breath!

He pushed and jolted up, crashing down onto the floor with a dull thud and scrambled, trying to fend them off, but he felt nothing. Choking and spluttering, he opened his eyes and saw the outline of his bedroom, looking up at the ceiling, the lone light bulb bearing down on him innocently.

A dream.

Only a dream.

Tears streamed down the side of his face and soaked into the carpet as he stared back up at the lone lightbulb. The bed sheets were tangled around his ankles, but he didn't care.

A nightmare.

He rolled over in a foetal position and didn't hold back the tears and chokes as they gripped him, refusing to let go.

After all this time, it had been over three months since the zombie plague started and his nightmares had abruptly stopped. Now they were back, and worse than before. He absently felt a pain in his rectum, remembering the times he had been raped by the pair, twice the wall of his rectum has been torn and he had long and uncomfortable recovery stints in the prison hospital. It had been obvious what had happened to him, but no one would help. No one was there for him. No friends of any substance and no staff that cared or weren't in the pocket of someone important.

Alone.

Worse than alone.

Enslaved.

His sobs wracked his body, convulsing and choking, alone on the floor. He cried for what seemed like a long time before his sobs reduced to sniffles and he managed to control himself. He stepped outside, where it was still raining and opened his arms to the sky. The rain was still quite heavy which was exactly what Craig wanted.

Wash it away, he wished. Wash all my shit away. The cool of the raindrops splattering down on his face felt refreshing against his warm skin and puffy eyes. He was wearing only jeans and a T-shirt and he could feel the shirt cling to his skin as the water drenched down on him. The rhythm of the deluge helping to clear his mind and focus.

I am free. All the people that ever shit on me or held me down are dead. I'm a survivor. I'm still here.

The warmth of the thought was cut down as a cold and painful tinge of regret flashed before him. Faces of people he knew.

Julia.

Greg, Glenda, Ben and Rose.

All dead because of him. Abused as he was. Taken for no reason other than for his own gratification.

"You said you are a survivor.

You are a hypocrite!"

A girl, thin and naked and innocent swirled around in front of him and took shape, standing alone in the rain before him. She looked up from between her pure blonde hair, draped elegantly over her face and shoulders, and pointed her finger at him. It was Katey.

"You took me. You took everything away from me. You said you would protect me.

You lied to me!" she shouted, her body shivering and translucent in the rain.

"I'm sorry!" Craig screamed back.

Katey shivered, her face flushing red with anger, "That's not goddamned good enough!"

"What do you want?" the desperation clear in his voice as it faltered.

"Die! I want you to die!"

"But-"

"Craig!" the voice cut through the thick rain, familiar and clear. Katey turned and looked behind her, back to where the voice shouted. "Craig!"

Greg. It was Greg. His friend.

He appeared suddenly through the dense downpour, running through Katey's apparition, dispelling her form instantly, dissolving her away. Greg jogged up, oblivious to her, and stood before Craig, panting.

"Craig, there you are. Been looki-… you alright?" Greg's brow knotted up in confusion and concern.

Craig simply stood, stunned and confused as the rain dribbled down his hair, his clothes soaked to the skin all over. His lips were blue from the cold, but he didn't notice. He didn't even shiver.

"It was real…." He mumbled. Katey was back. She spoke to him. She was there! Everything's falling down. I thought I was over this shit, he screamed to himself.

Greg stepped back, confused and uncomfortable as Craig seemed to stare right through him, his face blank. "Mate, wake up. You alright?" he stepped forward and planted a hand on his shoulder.

Craig flinched and threw Greg's hand off, yelping in surprise at the jolt, woken from his trance. The familiar sight of his friend, now established as real, the heavy touch on his shoulder confirming it. Craig gathered his thoughts, shaking his head as he focussed. "What…. What's going on?"

Greg regarded Craig for a moment, clenching and unclenching his hands before he replied, "Get your shit together Craig. We got a problem. Well, I dunno if it's a problem or not."

A problem. Something to do. Focus. Craig straightened, now completely back in the real world, "What is it?"

Greg stepped forward slightly, glad to see he had Craig's attention. "Those bikers from Moe. They want to deal. They want to talk to you."


	34. Renewed Dealings

**Dead Opportunities: Book 2**

**A New World Rises**

**Chapter 8: Renewed dealings**

The voice was cold and forthright, crackling over the radio receiver. Demanding an answer, "How's my Sarah?"

"She's fine." Craig replied immediately, without thinking, like returning a tennis serve.

"Good. Do you wanna know how Helen and the rest are?"

Whatever. "Yeah, sure. How are they?"

"Oh… well… they're fine too." He replied casually.

What game is he playing at?

"How's the weather on Phillip Island?" Harry teased.

"Cold and wet. Why? You got sunshine?"

"Ha. Plenty of that, mate."

Craig was growing frustrated by the sarcastic and unusual game Harry was playing. "Harry. How about we cut the shit. What is it." An order, not a question.

Harry paused a moment on the other end, drawing a breath and steadying his reply, as though reading from a speech. "Craig, my friend. I feel like we have gotten off to a bad start. We are currently locked in a hostile arrangement, no? I would like to see these…. animosities removed and our joint survival celebrated with co-operation." His words were tinged with rehearsed emotion and unnaturally steady alacrity for someone who undoubtedly had a reputation as a hard man. He was the leader of a biker gang, likely covered with tattoos and scars. He must be.

Although he replied with measured words, Craig was still not satisfied he had been given a straight answer. "No bullshit, Harry. What do you want? Stop reading from a piece of paper."

"Fine. I want Sarah back and I'm prepared to trade for her. We are not interested in trying to kill you all, but we would be better off trading with each other and co-operating as separate havens. Is that an ample absence of bullshit for you?"

"Sounds like a good idea. What do you propose exactly?"

"Well, want to come for a visit?"

"Pfft. And be shot as soon as I walk in the front door? Fuck off."

"C'mon Craig. I promise we won't. You keep Sarah for the moment as leverage to ensure we won't kill you. You come with a few friends and we have a talk."

"What have we got to talk about?"

Now it was Harry's turn to get impatient, "I told you. Trade. Friendly relations. We are only 2 hours or so by car away from each other. We may as well work together."

Do we really want to have anything to do with these guys? Do they have anything that we would want? What do we need? We have food, electricity, water and protection. What would we want that they have?

Greg tugged on his sleeve, "Hold on a moment Harry." Craig turned as Greg guided him away from the radio, whispering, "Craig we should go and at least have a look."

"Should we really bother? What do they have that we would want?"

"Probably nothing, but I would bet there are people we could trade Sarah for. Think about it. They are bikers. They probably took over the town and demanded 'payment' for protection. They're probably keeping the women there as slaves, mate."

It hit Craig like a poke in the eye. Katey flashed before him again and disappeared just as suddenly with a determined blink of his eyes. The course of action suddenly became obvious.

He nodded and turned back to the radio, "Harry, we'll come over tomorrow. Me, Greg and a couple of others. We'll keep Sarah here as insurance and we'll sit down and have a talk. Suss things out."

"Good to hear you come around my friend. 12 tomorrow? We'll treat you lunch. I assume you know how to get here?"

"We'll find it."

"Good. Come through the main road. The front guards will meet you and secure your entrance. Keep an eye out for undead. We've had a few stragglers and the surrounding towns haven't been secured yet."

"Right."

"Cheers, mate." And Harry's signal clicked off.

The casual nature of Harry's goodbye bit into Craig stomach. Obviously he was planning something besides a simple talk. What could it be?

"We're gonna need to be careful, mate." Greg seemed to sense Craig's unease, feeling the same. "I don't trust him."

"Me neither. Let's go see Sarah. See if we can't some info out of her."

Greg's posture stiffened, "No pins this time." His face was deadly serious.

Craig calmed him with a quick smile, "No pins. We'll ask nicely. After all, we agreed to treat her right."

Quickly, they walked out and down the main road on the way to the police station. It was solid kilometre walk, but the rain was still coming and quite heavy. Greg helpfully procured a couple of umbrellas as they left and they stepped out into the deluge, listening to the rain pop as it hit the material hoisted above their heads.

"Who exactly is this Helen woman?" Greg asked, his question stabbing through the rain and catching Craig by surprise. "When we were talking to Harry that first time, he mentioned a woman. Helen. Who is she?"

Craig was surprised to feel a knot in his stomach as he drew breath to reply, "Her and a few others came to Inverloch when I was on my own. She…" He looked down to concentrate on the rhythm of his steps to collect his thoughts. "She and I had a thing together for only a day or so, before some guys from Moe kidnapped her. I managed to get her back, but it all went pear shaped and one of the guys shot her son, killing him. She blamed me for it and left the next day."

"Jesus, mate! Sounds like she treated you pretty rough. You were trying to help her, right?"

He shifted his grip on the umbrella as it threatened to lurch forward in the slight wind, "Yeah, but I fucked up. Tried to kill the guys, which I did, but I shoulda just done the deal, exchanged her for the guy I managed to capture and walk away. Everyone happy.."

"I'm sorry, mate. Were you close?"

"Yeah…." He answered absently. "Yeah."

The mood dropped for the rest of the trek and the conversation veered back to the proposed meet up tomorrow with the bikers. They ran through contingencies and brainstormed about what Harry might have in mind, but they focussed as they approached the police station and walked inside, grateful to get out of the rain.

Gerard, one of the new arrivals from a few days ago was holding guard and he stood to attention like a startled child. He was calmed with a quick wave from Greg and they soon stood before Sarah's unlocked cell door, creaking and squealing as it swung open with a solid nudge.

Craig stood in the doorway, hiding Greg behind him as he looked down, startled, to find Sarah simply sitting on her cell bench, looking back up at him as though she already knew he was there, waiting for him.

"About time." She said coolly.

"Why do you say that?" Craig replied, stepping into the cold grey room. The aroma of her body odour was strangely sweet, yet tinged with the expected undercurrent of sweat. It was strangely alluring and repulsive at the same time.

"It's boring in here. Gerard what's-his-name won't talk to me, Michael won't talk to me and I have nothing to do. I wanna go outside."

"It's raining."

Her eyes lit up, "Good! I want a shower."

Craig stepped forward, towering over her as Greg leaned in the doorway, both expecting her to withdraw from their presences, which she did, but still tried to hide it. It was the shortness of his step across the floor bringing him right up to Sarah's knees that reminded him how small these cells were. They seemed even smaller when you spent a whole day in them. Strangely, they seemed to get bigger when you stayed longer. When you started to get used to them.

"Sarah, we wanna know more about Harry's set up at Moe. He hasn't made contact for a while, since we had that 'discussion'." Sarah tried to hide her obvious discomfort at the memory, but her right hand absently drifted up to her chest where he had inserted the drawing pin previously. The sting returned for a fleeting instant before she gathered herself, determined not to show she was genuinely intimidated by the pair.

"I told you what I know already."

Craig continued to stand before her, boxing her in, "We want to pay him a friendly visit. There's no point in us being hostile towards each other. Did you ever know about a woman named Helen?"

"No." she replied, straight away.

Too quickly, she's lying, "Hmph. Alright." He shrugged as he stepped away towards the basin in the corner, eyeing the grime that had gathered around the tap handles, looking down at his skewed and cloudy reflection on the faucet. "What happened exactly when the bikers arrived in Moe? Start at the beginning."

Sarah absently picked at her toenails, uncomfortable under Greg's cold gaze and inhaled deeply. "The zombies attacked from outside. They charged out from nowhere and killed a lot of people. About 30 of us managed to barricade in a house, we were safe for a while, but we would have been killed if the zombies found where we were hiding.

The bikers came into town, we heard their motorbikes and flagged them down. In exchange for our 'gratitude' they said they would kill the zombies and save us."

"What do you mean by gratitude?" he asked, already knowing what the answer would be.

"That's what Harry called it. We would have to do whatever they wanted. I was chosen by Harry to be his girl, but I grew to love him. There was more to him than I thought at first. I thought he was just a bastard, but I know better now."

Craig continued to stare down at the basin, watching a lonely droplet of water loitering near the plughole. "What about everyone else?"

Sarah withdrew her face behind her hair, not wanting to answer.

"Slaves?" Greg said coolly from the doorway, prompting Sarah to cross her arms and eyes him determinedly.

"You don't understand. When they came, it was every man for themselves. I made sure I was at the top of the food chain with Harry. If I didn't….."

Craig turned to regard her, staring at the floor, "And you love him?" he said sarcastically.

"That's what I said." She half whispered from behind her hair, her body slumped as Craig's comment sunk in, a reality she had chosen to ignore all this time.

Craig placed his hands on his shoulders and stepped forward again, right next to her as she flinched away slightly. "I'll ask you again, Sarah. Is Helen there?"

She paused, obviously aware that he didn't believe her previous lie, "Yes."

"Is she OK?"

"Sort of."

Craig leaned down to a squat so he was eye level with her, staring through her hair as she met his gaze uncomfortably, "What do you mean by 'sort of'?"

"Sh-she's like the others. She's a slut now."

Before he knew what he had none he slapped her hard, sending her sprawling off the bench and tumbling down to the floor. She didn't bother to get up or shield herself, but simply curled up on the floor and started sobbing after the initial shock. Craig looked down at his open hand, stunned at his violent reaction.

Again, before he was even conscious of what he was doing, he stormed passed Greg and ordered him to lock her up again with a growl. Gerard yelped again with surprise as Craig ran passed him and out into the rain.

The chill of the rain startled him and gave him the presence of mind to reach for one of the umbrellas Greg stowed from before. The familiar popping of the rain onto the umbrella was like a heartbeat of sorts, helping him to calm down and replay what just happened.

He made only a few steps before he heard Greg call after him and step in beside him, "Craig, what the fuck was that about?"

"I dunno." He replied quickly, almost cutting Greg off mid-question, wishing he was alone.

"Bullshit! She's still important to you, isn't she?"

Craig marched on, quickening his pace and staring straight ahead into the lightening downpour.

"Hey! Don't you ignore me, you little shit!" Greg yelled.

Craig could feel his anger rising, suddenly aware of the rush of blood to his head and tried desperately to make it dissipate, afraid he might lose his temper on his friend.

"Alright! Fine, I still love her." His feet failed him and he could not move. He stopped dead in his tracks on the asphalt as Greg stepped back up to his side, peeking out from under his umbrella. The admission knocked the wind out of him, the anger gone. "I suppose I do." He said, defeated, yet aware of the warmth spreading through his chest, tightening.

Greg adjusted his stance, grating the asphalt under his shoes and replied matter-of-factly, "So, we go rescue her then. We trade her for Sarah. Simple as that."

"Remember, it won't be that easy. Harry's got something planned. I wanna know what."

"Yeah." Greg replied absently.

oooo00oooo

The rest of the day rolled on with most people staying indoors. The rain was constant and relatively heavy, a boon for the various water tanks around the island, filling to the brim. Some people even took the opportunity Sarah wanted, but would not get, the chance to have a shower in the rain.

The land around the island was getting a good soaking, leading Greg to comment on it being high time for getting farming activities underway. Nothing had been done previously in this regard given the restricted population and lack of resources, but Greg noted that the arrival of the other farming families from a few days ago meant an organised farming effort could be established.

However, these were thoughts for another day as Craig sank down into his bed, dreading the prospect of another bad dream.

Billy and Bob again invaded his sleep, waking him in the middle of the night in a hot sweat. After a glass of cool water and busying himself with a incomplete puzzle he had started and not touched a couple of days ago, the fright was finally banished from his mind with boredom and he sank down to sleep again, resting peacefully and waking up refreshed, unable to remember other dreams he had of Helen.

The mixture of excitement and nervousness was palpable as he went about his morning routine, breakfast and a quick wash followed by clean clothes. The sun was shining outside, it's brightness amplified by the reflective puddles of water everywhere, large and deep in the muddy grass and slick asphalt. Craig hoped this would be a good omen for the day as he met up with Greg in town, already waiting by the truck they had agreed they would take. He also seemed pleased with the day's change in weather as he smiled, watching him approach.

"Bloody good day isn't it?" he beamed.

"Damn right. You find any volunteers to come with us today?"

"Nope. Everyone's using the 'I've got a family' excuse or 'I dunno how to use a gun' bullshit." Greg's smile didn't fade however as he spat into a large puddle to his left, the wad floating and interrupting the previously tranquil surface. "Half these people are country guys. They should know how to use a rifle, especially the farmers. Fucking ingrates."

"Fuck it, let's just do this ourselves. We can handle this."

"Too right. Let's go."

The drive out was quite peaceful, as they tended to be on the highways. It was a strange feeling to know that within a 2 kilometre radius there could be over a thousand zombies, but you could see none, hidden in houses and surrounding towns, or even trapped in wrecked cars that dotted the highway. Craig caught a fleeting glimpse of one such example, a small child staring longingly back out at him, it's little hands and face pressed up again the glass inside a hatchback, seemingly devoid of any bloodlust.

There were hardly any obvious signs of the zombie presence besides the lack of activity around them. There were a few straggling undead here and there, but Greg did a fine job slaloming around them on the empty road, casually drifting into the other opposing lanes and sailing right past them without any contact. It was amusing to watch them in the side mirrors futilely attempt to give chase, but promptly disappear into the horizon, unable to match the truck's 90 kmph cruising speed.

The Bass Highway arced east along the coast and then north to Leongatha to link up with the Strzlecki Highway, continuing up further north which would then intersect with the Princes Highway, travelling a short distance west to Moe. The journey managed to bring them from Victoria's southern coast to deep into the Gippsland region, still forming part of the south-eastern quarter of Victoria. The change in landscape was quite marked. Golden and brown fields stretched out into the distance, not yet having had the chance to drink up the rains from last night that were likely also lighter in this part of the country.

As they approached the town of Moe, the landscape seemed to break up from the pancake flat fields to rolling hills, a prelude of the Dandenong Mountain range that stretched from west to east, further north.

Indeed, as Harry had warned before, as soon as they took the Moe exit off the Princes Highway, a lone zombie stood in the middle of the one lane service road like a deformed and grotesque lollypop lady, albeit missing the red STOP sign.

The two companions couldn't help by smile as the truck slammed into the solitary figure, chewing up the young woman beneath the front carriage and spitting out her pulped remains out the back like a bloodied turd.

The locale reminded Craig of the approach to Inverloch in that there was the same stretch of lonely houses by the road side, slowly growing denser and more built uo as the town loomed larger further ahead. Neither of them spoke, watching intently and concentrating fully as they eyed the dirty and dilapidated houses and empty cars, smashed and riddled with overgrown weeds.

The main road curved to the right, sweeping gently and opening up into a long bare stretch of road. Well, almost bare. The shops and houses by the roadside were much more built up, although were just as dirty and abandoned as the houses they had just passed. However, it was not the straggling undead that wandered the streets before them that caught their attention, rather a large structure down the straight road, undead congregated 5 deep in front of it. Greg eased the truck's speed down as they peered into the near distance and made out a barrier much like the gate back home on the Phillip Island bridge, but appeared to be made of steel.

A man standing a top the large fence stood and waved towards them, holding up his hand for them to hold steady in the street. Greg slowed the truck down and brought it to a stop in the lone section of road, both of them eyeing the zombie crowd in the distance, perhaps 100 hundred or so metres away and oblivious to their presence.

They sat and watched as the men standing atop the gate erupted in a flurry of activity and brought out what looked like fuel cans, pouring their contents down on the crowd below. Craig and Greg both tensed as they watched the dousing and gasped as a man dropped a light in the middle of the mob, sending flames leaping throughout and engulfing the hapless zombies in flame.

It seemed half of the zombies dispersed, running away in a blind panicked as the fire stuck to them, sending trails of acrid black smoke wafting up behind them. The other half of the crowd vainly continued to push and surge up against the gate, still trying to grab upwards to the men that simply stood and watched from above, surveying their carnage through the thickening black smoke.

Even from inside their truck, 100 hundred metres away, they could hear their moans and screams, any hint of hunger or midday appetite lost as they watched the zombies panic, only to succumb and fall, their bodies charring and burning, littering the street. The whole scene was reminiscent of war footage from African riots or some such.

The sight left them both dumbfounded, especially given that from their distance, it was impossible to physically tell these were zombies and not real people. The usual rotten and decayed features that unmistakably identified them as the undead were undistinguishable, especially through the flames.

Greg especially watched in horror as a small undead child strayed into the zombies that were still running around in a panic and was summarily trampled flat by the stampede, smacked down and crushed into the road.

All pretense of the sunny day being a good omen for the meeting to come was shot down by the sight before them, this ghastly orgy of death and mayhem. It was especially disheartening as Craig looked upward to the men still on the gates above to see them with arms folded in unison, obviously enjoying the sight by contrast. One even had the gall to give the dying monsters a Nazi 'seig heil' salute, a parting insult as thought they were implementing some sort of grotesque final solution.

Sick bastards. Even I'm not that bad, Craig mused disgustedly.

Finally, the last of the unfortunate zombies fell to the ground with a stumble and remained motionless, as if announcing to the men above to open the gates, which they promptly did, baying for Greg and Craig to proceed inside while the coast was clear.

Craig was unsure how Greg had the presence of mind to acquiesce as it was the lurch of the truck and growl of the engine being over-revved that woke him from his stupefying trance.

Craig couldn't help but feel he was being led into hell as they eased up to the gate, the truck steadily driving over the remains of the burning zombies, crunching loudly beneath the tyres. A young man, wearing make-shift army style fatigues and a bandanna over his face waved them through, dirty and black through the smoke, like a spectre.

However, the smoke suddenly cleared and they way before them was just clear and strangely relieving. It was oddly calming to see people milling about, houses and shopfronts unnaturally clean and maintained compared to the dilapidation and neglect outside the make-shift city's walls.

Just as quickly as the mild euphoria came, however, it suddenly disappeared again for Craig, unsure why. He suddenly had the uncomfortable sensation he had a traffic jam of diarrhoea that urgently needed to vacate and seemed to heighten as a large pair of men motioned for them to stop the truck.

Greg eased the truck to a stop as the men, oddly, both walked over to Craig's side.

Craig obliged, opening his door and stepping out onto the grass of a small embankment and turned to the face the men when his heart stopped.

Their faces were covered by bandanas, Akubra cowboy hats further disguising their visages, but their swagger, build and body language ignited a recognition deep inside him that he could not mistake.

"Craaaaaig! Mate!"

"Good to see you again!"

If there was any doubt before, their voices clinched it, destroying all uncertainty. Craig stood, rooted to the ground, absolutely unable to move as the shock smacked him in the face like a wet glove.

"You remember your old friends, dontcha?"

"Haha! Hey Bill, I think he does."

"Yeah, Bob. I think you're right."


	35. Challenge

**Dead Opportunities: Book 2**

**A New World Rises**

**Chapter 9: Challenge**

Craig couldn't believe it. Billy and Bob. The Skinner brothers standing right in front of him.

"C'mon Craig! Don't you fuckin' recognise us?"

How could I not! These were the men that single-handedly fucked up my life! He shouted, but his mouth would not move, stuck open in a dumbfounded gaping stare. Craig flinched as Billy moved to step forward.

"Don't you fucking touch me." Craig growled, deathly furious, barely contained his anger. He was strangely thankful for the reflex driven clutching of his buttocks and rectum upon the sight of these men, aware of the diarrhoea threatening to fill his pants.

"Craig? What's going on?" Greg interrupted the tension, standing between the opposing men.

"Tell you later. Need to take a shit." He said, his seemingly calm words hiding the rushing tide of anger threatening to burst through. He dared to turn to a hapless looking young man to his right, clear of the brothers. "Where's a toilet?"

"Just over there, in the back of the store." Bob answered for the unnerved man, bringing Craig's cold stare back over to him, returning it without hesitation.

"Let's go, Greg." He waved his hand, prompting Greg to carefully walk over towards a shop front surrounded by a patch of muddy grass.

"We'll wait for you Craigy boy…" Billy smiled sweetly and condescendingly, waving like a little girl, mocking him. Teeth strung on a bracelet on his wrist jingled as he waved, the jiggling rolls of fat hiding the hardened muscle underneath. The calloused skin on his knuckles hidden from view behind his open palms, dirty with grease.

It took all he had to focus on Greg walking in front of him, leading the way and to ignore the brothers behind him. Past taunts and abuses swimming around in his head all at once like a whirlpool of sewerage he was struggling to tread water in.

The change from light to shade as they entered what looked like a ransacked restaurant snapped his attention back again into the real world as the smell of cobwebs and dust threatened to make him sneeze and vacate his still tightly clenched bowels. Soy sauce and rotten meat mixed with the stale dust as they stepped passed the tables and into the bare and grimy kitchen. What looked like rotten vegetables and fillets of chicken lay green and black on stainless steel shelves, white tiles now covered by dirt and muddy footprints leading a seemingly well worn trail to the left through a doorway.

Greg still led the way, silently and steadily through the back of the dirty restaurant until he pushed through a toilet door and into an unnaturally clean toilet block. It was a stark contrast to the filthy kitchen, obviously having been cleaned and maintained by someone. It was almost funny to think that a bunch of dirty bikers had judged the toilet of a Chinese restaurant more important that it's kitchen or fridge stocks.

Without a word, Craig pushed passed Greg and into a cubicle, again rather clean, and quickly sat down on the toilet. He tried, but he could not release himself. It wouldn't come.

Even as he heard the tinkle of Greg relieving himself into the urinal next door, he could not unclench his now cramping buttocks. It was as though they had been glued shut. Cramped closed.

"Craig, what's the deal? You know them?" Greg's voice boomed and echoed in the claustrophobic stall.

"Skinner brothers. They're the ones from when I was in prison. The ones who fucked me up." He growled back.

"Fucking hell, Craig! Jesus Christ what do we do?" the worry and concern obvious in his wavering voice. He was strangely calmed by the anger in Craig's.

"Just finish up and go outside. I need to think." He barked back.

The rhythm of his breathing, rushing through his nose coupled with the thumping heartbeat in his head, behind his ears, drowned out all else, even Greg's reply. This was a disaster!

What the fuck are they doing here! They're not supposed to be here! They're supposed to be dead like everyone I knew. Everyone who ever fucked me over.

I'm gonna fucking kill them.

The thought was comforting. The prospect of actively killing the very men who took his pride away, tantalising and delicious. The resulting sensation in his rear was pure ecstasy as the disgusting mess suddenly released and splashed down into the water below. He rode it like an orgasm. Delirium taking hold and not letting go, making him feel light-headed.

Reaching over to the toilet paper, for a moment he wasn't sure he felt the toilet paper on his rectum as he wiped or the water soaked bandages and gauzes from the prison hospital. He wasn't sure if he was wiping shit or blood.

Unsteady on his feet, he rose and surveyed the mess below him. The rank smell and disgusting sight awoke him from the stupefying dream and brought him back to cold reality, and with it brought a realisation.

He watched as he pressed the flush button and the black brown mess disappeared under a pulse of water, to be replaced by a new crystal clear pool. Not a trace of it was left behind.

Spotless.

Renewed by the cleansing act, he hitched his pants up, hurriedly washed his hands and stepped outside to find Greg waiting nervously.

"You OK? What do we do?" he asked nervously.

"Leave everything to me." Craig replied, unnaturally calm.

oooo00oooo

It did not take long before the pair sat down to a small wooden table in an office building of some sort. A chartered accounting practice it seemed.

The Skinner brothers were nowhere to be seen when they had come back out of the Chinese restaurant. The young man Craig barked at before gestured and led them through town to where they are now, flanked by a pair of large, mainly fat, men clad in leather and denim brandishing shotguns.

Craig tried to look for Helen, but surmised she must be indoors somewhere, aware of the possibility some fat dirty bastard was on top of her right now, shoving himself into her. His knuckles cracked in a fist at the thought.

Various men, some obviously bikers and some obviously not, watched them both suspiciously and excitedly as the young man led them inside.

But these details did not matter. Finally, now they sat down at a table with Harry, the leader of the gang and, Craig strangely thankful, Billy and Bob standing casually right behind him like guard dogs, arms folded to push up their bicep muscles, accentuated by the ample layer of fat around them. Their large statures were obviously a tool of their trade, driven by the necessity and primal requirement to instil fear and command respect through brute force.

Craig could see no obvious signs of it, but Harry was perturbed to see Craig's angry, but contained demeanour in light of the present company, aware of the history between them all. Greg was thankful Craig was going to do the talking for he felt if he was required to speak, his voice would squeak as though it had just lowered, like a pubescent teenager.

The air of the room was stale and warm, fuelled by the hot blood coursing through everyone's veins, yet chilled by the icy stares stabbing across the table.

No one spoke a word of greeting as Craig and Greg sat down, until Harry finally broke the silence.

"Welcome, Craig, Greg. It's nice to finally meet you."

"Likewise." Craig replied, speaking more to Billy and Bob than anyone else.

'I trust you were provided a welcome congruent to your… expectations?"

Just like Billy and Bob, Harry was also a large man, a fair deal older too, possibly 50 to the Skinner brothers' early forties. Long brown hair and a beard hid many of his facial features, save for a large scar across his forehead and his dark almond eyes, promising intelligence in excess of what his clothing and reputation might suggest. Cold and calculating. His fingers, clad in many silver and steel rings with various toothy and demonic smiles and designs, tapped loudly on the polished pine table top.

Craig had to establish the upper hand, no room for intimidation on his part. He leaned forward, not at all surprised to see that none of the opposing party leaned back in response, instead meeting his posture with indifference and confidence.

"Very much so." He replied coolly.

"So, Craig.."

"Let's get straight to it." Craig interrupted, cognisant enough to raise a hand reassuringly, promising no offense for his impoliteness. "I want to organise a trade with you."

"What do you have in mind?" Harry replied, folding his arms to match the brothers behind him.

"Helen, Donald and Regina."

"Yes? What are you going to trade for?" he asked casually.

"Sarah."

"You have a problem."

"What?"

"I've decided I don't give a fuck about Sarah anymore. You need to give me something else."

The gravity of the conundrum slammed home like a punch to the face. At first, Craig wanted to launch across the table and strangle the life out of this back-stabbing liar, before an idea flashed through his mind.

"Alright then, I'll fight your two butt-buddies to the death one after the other instead."

Harry coughed and erupted in a fit of laughter, prompting the brothers, who's immediate reaction was to gawk in surprise, to join on the laughter.

Wiping a tear away as his laughter calmed, he replied to Craig's cold stare and Greg's jaw on the table, "Are you serious?"

"Yes. Hand-to-hand. I assume you know the history between us."

"Yes I do. I won't allow it." he said, with an air of finality Craig chose to ignore.

"Why not?"

"They are my best men. It would not be in anybody's interest for them to kill you."

"Boss…." Billy replied. "It would be our pleasure. We have a score to-"

Harry raised a hand and cut them off, "Out of the question. If you have nothing else to contribute to this discussion, Craig, then I fear everyone has wasted their time."

"If they win, you get Sarah for free, Helen, Donald and Regina will remain yours, and I'll be out of your way."

"Boss…" Bob whined, cut off by Harry's raised fist, smashing down on the table.

"You really aren't that smart, are you?" Harry replied.

"Craig…" Greg tried to butt in, but Craig persisted.

"I'm serious, Harry. I want these two men dead for my own personal reasons and I'm prepared to gamble for the chance. Are you buying or not?" Craig dared, his eagerness palpable.

Harry mulled over the proposal, scratching his bearded chin. "I have to admit," he smiled. "It would be a good show. These zombies are boring. A good old fight would be a sight to see. Hand to hand?"

"Yup."

"You're on. When, where?"

Craig leaned forward on the table, staring up at the brothers who were grinning wickedly. "Right now. Outside. Billy first."

"Jesus Christ, you want to die quickly, don't you?"

"Bring it on."

oooo00oooo

The mild heat of the midday sun caused small clouds of steam to waft up from the wet grass, giving the makeshift arena an other-worldly appearance. Surrounded by baying and shouting men and women, he watched as Harry paraded out the stakes.

Regina and Donald. Confused and scared by the shouts and promise of death, they smiled slightly as they recognised Craig through the seas of testosterone and pumping fists. Donald appeared much the same as Craig remembered, but Regina had lost some weight. Probably not by choice.

Helen. Everything seemed to stop, timed slowed as they made eye contact through the mayhem. Craig couldn't help but smile as she looked back, stunned and heartbroken. Her grubby hair slightly obscured the somehow understanding smile that warmed her face.

"Alright, everyone! We got us a fight! It's Billy versus Craig in a bare knuckle fight to the death! No rules and no holds-barred. Billy, you ready?!"

Billy stood still, his feet firmly planted in the grass, his weight already having squashed the grass down into mud as he cracked his knuckles, smiling back. Over the noise, Bob could be heard screaming, "You better fucking die, Billy so I can have a go!"

Roars of laughter erupted as Billy removed his leather jacket, exposing his ample gut and square and bulky frame. Tattoos lined much of his skin, one in particular drawing Craig's attention. A small picture of a dragon just above the line of his pants, a sight Craig could vividly remember from all of the times he had to choke down on the bastard's dick.

There was no doubt about it. Billy was not a small man, by any stretch. His shoulders broad and large, he stepped forward into the makeshift ring to acknowledge the crowd with hands in the air, dancing as though he fancied himself a biker version of Ali, snapping punches into the air. Craig had no doubt of any of those knuckles connected, he would certainly know about it, mindful of what they felt like in prison.

Finally, the roar of the crowd died back a little and Harry, still parading through the ring's centre, shouted, "And Craig! You ready?"

The crowd erupted in a mass of deafening boos and insults which Craig could barely even hear. Slowly and methodically, Craig unbuttoned his own leather jacket and pulled off his white T-shirt, handing it to Greg who he couldn't see, but knew was standing behind him.

Suddenly, the noise died down as they saw Craig's muscular and strong features. The adrenaline was gushing through his veins and his chiselled muscles were bulging, longing to unleash. Craig stepped forward in the silence and simply returned a stare back to Billy who was looking just a little nervous at the dramatic transformation. He remembered Craig being a little on the tubby side and weak. Not a man who, at least looked the part, as someone a fair deal stronger and very much fitter than he was.

Somehow, everyone's eyes fell back to Helen who stepped forward, serene and pure, calling softly, yet everyone heard.

"You kill him for me, honey. You get them both. I love you."


	36. This Is For Me

**Dead Opportunities: Book 2**

**A New World Rises**

**Chapter 10: This is for me**

"FIGHT!"

Harry brought down his hand, signalling the start of the fight and backed away to the edge of the human ring.

The loud shout and resulting cheering from the audience was like a starter pistol going off and Craig snapped forward without hesitation, running towards Billy who braced his feet for the impact.

Billy readied and swung and punched down at Craig who tucked in his head and took the brunt of it on the neck, crashing into the fat man and spilling him over into the mud.

Like a rabid animal, Craig's bloodlust took over and he grappled with him, pushing through the flurry of hands and grabbing a hand around Billy's neck. Before his enemy had a chance to wrench himself free, Craig pulled himself down onto him, copping a thump on his head from a stray fist and bared his teeth for Billy's neck.

With a blood curdling cry, Billy struggled and choked as Craig's teeth tore through his throat and took away his voice, blood spurting everywhere, covering Craig's face, drenching him.

Cartilage snapped and flesh tore as he pulled back, pushing off Billy's spasming body, long tendrils of flesh and skin stretching like rubbery cheese bitten off a pizza with his jaw firmly clenched around the dying man's Adam's Apple.

Billy Grabbed for his throat, his eyes wide and terrified at the sudden prospect that he was going to die. No matter how hard he tried, no matter how hard he squeezed his hand around his own neck, he couldn't stop the blood pouring down his throat, drowning him. He barely even knew what just happened. Fights aren't supposed to work like this! He fought dirty! Filthy! This isn't right!

Everyone watched in silence, listening to Billy choke, shaking and contorting in the mud as he bled out in wild fear, finally laying still, his hands locked in death around his own throat and eyes wide open to the sky above. Frozen.

As Billy died, everyone turned, mouths agape and stared at Craig, standing in the middle of the ring with Billy's throat still in his mouth, strands of skin and flesh snaking out of from between his lips and dribbling blood down his chest. Craig, repulsed by the taste and unholy sensation and texture of the flesh in his mouth, relished the pure horror and outrage on Bob's face, who dumbly stumbled forward. His hands shook and looked to help his dead brother somehow, but his face flushed red in fury as the sudden turn of events started to sink in.

Craig answered the coming challenge as he spat the large wad of flesh into the mud in front of him, smiling to his coming opponent through bloody teeth.

"Next." He laughed and Bob charged.

The ground seemed to shake and all was drowned out by the raging screams of the outraged man. To have killed his brother in a good fight would have been one thing, it is expected in this criminal lifestyle that someone will take your life one day. They were prepared for it as brothers. But for Billy to die like this, desecrated by such a dirty act, by a man who was supposed to be a submissive slut.

This will not do. This is unholy!

Craig tensed as he saw the rushing bull coming and stepped to the side before there was a chance for him to change direction. However, Bob snapped a hand out and managed to grab Craig by the arm as he fell forward, pulling him down with him, slamming into the ground.

With agility belying his size, Bob recovered from the fall, having anticipated it and wrestled on top of Craig, pinning him beneath his heavy body and grabbed for his exposed neck, looking to return the favour and destroy this upstart in the same disgusting manner.

Panicking, Craig stabbed his fingers outward as Bob thrust his face down and squarely poked him roughly in the eyes, feeling something wet and warm get under his finger nail.

With a high pitched scream, Bob pulled back with a start and grabbed for his eye, blind and stumbling. Seizing the opportunity, Craig got to his feet and pressed the advantage, readying a punch just as Bob gathered himself to see the fist coming.

With a hard crunch, Craig connected squarely with Bob's nose, the crowd recoiling at the crunch of his nose breaking, followed by a second punch with the other hand, whacking into his cheek and snapping Bob's neck over, collapsing into the mud on all fours.

Craig was surprised to feel the unexpected amount of pain coarse through his hand. He knuckles felt all out of place, like Lego blocks that didn't fit together properly. Swearing and moaning, he let his hands go limp, unaware of Bob rolling up from the mud and gathering himself.

A sharp sound bit through the air as Craig look up to see Bob pull out a knife from his belt. A tiny blade the size of a small finger, but the crowd only cheered him on, collectively ignoring the hands only rules agreed upon before.

Panic threatened to negate any amount of momentum Craig had as Bob charged, slashing the tiny knife through the air menacingly. Thinking fast, Craig dropped as Bob bore down and kicked his legs from underneath him, snapping Bob's left knee inwards and backwards, breaking it comprehensively. Bob's large frame crashed down on him, crushing the wind out of him and he could feel the tip of the knife nick into his shoulder as Bob seemed to go slack, screaming.

"Fu-hu-huck!"

Squirming, Craig managed to get out from under the dead weight before his opponent had the presence of mind to tackle or stab him. Before he rolled clear, though, he felt the cold sting on the knife nick him again, ripping the skin on the back of his shoulder. With a yelp he stumbled to his feet and ambled around the ring to try and get his breath back as the men in the ring reached out to push him back in.

His feet felt so heavy as he lumbered around, trying not to slip on the wet grass and mud, and he felt he might faint. Everything was getting a bit dark and the audience was blurring away. He couldn't even hear them anymore.

"Get 'im, Craig!"

I know that voice. I hear her!

"Look out!"

Wha?

The sudden impact felt like a truck and came from nowhere. A little voice somewhere towards the back of his head informed him through the haze and confusion that it was a punch delivered by his opponent.

That's all it was. You'll be fine, it said. No worries.

Okey dokey, little voice! You da man!

SMACK!

Craig was faintly aware he was lying on the ground and something was on top of him. That little voice yelled at him again.

Hey! He punched you again! That's no good. Go get him!

Okey dokey, little voice! You da man!

His arms seemed hopelessly devoid of any strength and feeling, but it was enough to make out the face and form of Bob sitting atop him.

That's an ear! Poke it!

Yessir!

SMACK!

Another punch crashed down, somewhere on his cheek. It felt warm.

Go for the nose! It's broken, remember?

Yessir!

Scrambling around, he found what felt like Bob's nose and squeezed it as hard as he could as his vision started to clear and the little voice died away. Everything seemed to come back with some measure of focus.

Bob's bruised and bleeding face blotted out the light, but his scream was like a beacon, he realised. Bob's screaming was waking him up.

Bob recoiled and Craig shoved a fist upward, connecting with his nose again and causing him to flinch back. Aware of the godsend this opportunity was, Craig did not hesitate as he pushed Bob over onto his stomach and reached around his face.

With a secure grip around his forehead, Craig reached down his other hand and poked his ring finger into the corner of his mouth and pulled with all his might.

The fishhook manoeuvre didn't quite work as planned as his other hand slipped and Bob's face fell down slack again.

Fuck it! Time to end this.

"Roll over and look at me, you faggot!" he shouted over the noise.

As though admitting defeat, Bob scrambled over and looked back up at Craig, towering over the broken and hapless man.

"Pleesh…" he whimpered.

Of all the people to plead. Of all the people to ask for forgiveness. Craig felt the anger rising. Everything was clear again.

"That's what I said back in prison you fuck! You will get what you gave me!"

Craig hammered down his fist with explosive fury.

This was for the beatings.

SMACK!

This was for the rapings!

CRUNCH

This one's for ruining me!

SMACK!

This one's for Helen!

One after another the fists barrelled down, pummelling Bob's face further and further down into the mud until the blood and dirt were indistinguishable.

This one's for ME!

"DIE!"

With a final shove, Craig smacked another punch down into Bob's already still form and backed away. Satisfied the job was done.

As once before, everyone was silent. The grubby and dirty audience surrounding him stared in absolute stillness tried to comprehend what had just transpired.

Craig turned and looked for Helen. She stepped into the ring to greet her saviour, but her face was a confused mix of horror and delight, unsure of whether this rabid monster was the same man she knew.

Craig smiled, even though it hurt to do so. He couldn't help it and Helen smiled back, her teeth resplendent and white, like a fleeting glimpse of unspoiled purity in the dirty arena.

It didn't matter that he was covered in dirt and blood, most of it not his. It didn't matter that he had just killed two men in a dirty fight. The tears flowed and they crashed into each other, embracing tightly.

He came back.

He came back for me.


	37. Betrayal

**Dead Opportunities: Book 2**

**A New World Rises**

**Chapter 11: Betrayal**

"Well, Craig. I have to hand it to you. Well done."

The crowded ring, having only just seconds ago been screaming and baying for Craig's blood, turned in stunned silence as Harry spoke.

"Donald, Regina and, obviously, Helen are yours."

Craig and Helen joined in with the shocked audience, surprised at Harry's forthright and honest complement and acquiescence. Even Greg, somewhat lost in the small sea of people, looked on in dumb silence.

"Uh, OK. Thanks." Craig stammered.

Harry, obviously sensing everyone's curiosity and disbelief, spoke up before any of his men became angry or bitter. "We had a deal, we both agreed to it. You won, so you take the spoils. I wasn't lying Craig when I said I wanted to co-operate, not that it would stop me driving a hard bargain, but you've earned my respect."

Craig tried to respond, but his jaw failed him. He could only nod.

"You're one crazy bastard. See you 'round." He grinned, flashing unexpectedly pearly white teeth through his thick beard and turned to leave, the crowd parting to let him through with deference. "Back to work!" he yelled through the still air, waking up the crowd of misfits and criminals, sending them scrambling in all directions and away.

In the midst of the buzzing activity, Helen and Craig stood alone, locked in a warm embrace as Greg, Regina and Donald slowly stepped up, admiring the moment.

oooo00oooo

The truck rumbled along, the gear lever vibrating in her hand as she changed down a gear to pull up into the Princes Highway to head back home. Helen was torn between looking out the windscreen and to her left where Craig sat, massaging his aching, and rapidly swelling cheeks and jaw.

"Eyes on the road, babe." He smiled, wincing at the slight stinging pain.

"Do I have to?" she grinned back.

Greg, Donald and Regina were sitting in the back cab of the truck, unable to fit in the front which only had two decent seats. Besides, Regina reasoned, Helen and Craig had some catching up to do.

Indeed they did as Helen eased the truck up over the slightly off-camber ramp and settled it into a smooth acceleration up to 80kpmh, cruising down the largely deserted highway.

"How you doing?" she asked for the fourth time.

"I think I need you to kiss it better." He smirked.

"Watch yourself, matey." She teased.

Craig turned serious as the truck's cruise control took hold and Helen relaxed, "What happened to you?"

The pall across her features was like the sun ducking behind a cloud, bathing the cabin in a grey gloom. "We were all kept as slaves. I was 'given' to one of those Skinner brothers. I was lucky. I was only raped twice. No big deal, really." She said dismissively, looking out the window away from Craig.

"No big deal?"

"Just drop it." She snapped. She didn't want him to know what really happened. "They're dead now, anyway. What does it matter? I've got you now. Don't ever leave me." She pleaded, staring at him through gathering tears.

He reached out his hand to caress her cheek, which she nuzzled against, smiling sincerely. Relaxed.

"I'm sorry, honey." He whispered.

She half-turned back to eye the road, but continued to rest her cheek on his hand resting on her shoulder comfortably. The curls of her hair felt smooth and silken between his fingers as he traced and outline with his finger, following the curvature of his cheek bones. "I'm sorry, too." She kissed his raw knuckles, which were only now just starting to scab over.

"I missed you." He stammered.

"You've got no idea how much I've missed you, babe." She shuddered as she tried to hold back the encroaching tears. "You came back. It's OK, now."

"I think you'll like Phillip Island. Lots of nice people. You'll like it. Lots of families, mostly, but it's safe and secure. I've got a nice house picked out already. You wanna move in with me?" he grinned mischievously.

She couldn't help but laugh, dispelling her tears as she straightened in her driver's seat. "Do I get a key?"

oooo00oooo

The rest of the drive home was divinely relaxed, catching up where they had left off and bathing in the delirium of their reunion. Greg and Donald in particular in the back were having a great conversation about farming plans, whilst Regina nodded along dutifully as though she was deeply interested in soil acidity and crop rotation.

Finally, they pulled up to the Phillip Island bridge gate, waved through as expected and Craig directed Helen through the streets to the main square, excitement building, and the growing smile across his face worsening the ache in his jaw and cheeks, but he didn't care.

Carefully, she pulled the truck to a stop, neatly parked against the curb, and they stepped out onto the asphalt, eager to stretch their legs. The others pulled open the truck's back door and also stepped out, glad to escape the unsteady confines of the bare cab.

"We made it, baby!" Regina grabbed Helen in a tight bear hug, ecstatic to be alive and safe. Even Donald, normally reserved, joined in and bade Craig and Greg to as well. Greg, having only just met the group, was a little hesitant.

Greg's suggestion of a bite to eat was heartily welcomed and reminded everyone how hungry they were. Harry had previously offered lunch as part of their meeting, but had been forgotten after the fight.

They walked as a group, stopping to shake the hands of passers-by, curious and welcoming of the new visitors, until they stepped inside the Fisherman restaurant. Nico and Mari were still the self-proclaimed resident chief chefs and promptly set to work warming up some left over roast beef from the night before, but not before the rotund and motherly Mari gave each of them a kiss on the cheek and a tight hug.

The meal was delicious and of a quality and quantity that had been sorely missed by the new arrivals. Memories of their first night in Inverloch when Craig had cooked up a similar roast resurfaced, as did Leroy's presence, which cast a slight cloud over the happy occasion.

All was soon forgotten and emotions lifted when plates of juicy beef and crispy roast vegetables were presented with ardent fervour by the two chefs. Staring at the food, Regina somewhat proudly revealed that she had lost almost 5kgs of weight. When asked how that happened, she mumbled something about starvation and withdrew back to her plate.

Donald leaned forward to recount their experience, having been paraded through the streets of Moe and scared witless by the biker horde. Donald was promptly separated from the women and locked in a make-shift prison with several other men who were civilians and husbands like him. Regina and Helen were taken away to act as sex slaves with the other women who were undoubtedly still in servitude.

The three of them bowed their heads and Regina started to cry at the thought, but Donald promptly dismissed any further discussion of the matter and resumed tucking in to the beckoning meal, Regina and Helen following suit. Their awful memories momentarily parked by their desire for their first decent meal in a long time.

Later in the day, Craig and Helen excused themselves, both out of a desire to get away and Craig feeling a thumping headache coming on. Holding hands, they both excused themselves, leaving Greg and Donald, once again, talking shop about agriculture, while Regina idly sipped a glass of red wine.

It felt good to get away, strolling together in the sun. They didn't even need to speak, more content to just enjoy the proximity of their company. Craig guided them into a chemist just down the road to get a packet of pain relievers as they strolled back to his home, taking the long way as he popped a couple of the tablets.

"How do you feel?"

"Strangely satisfied. I can't deny it felt good to kill those bastards. It's funny. They raped you _and_ me. What are the odds?" He chuckled dejectedly.

"It doesn't matter anymore. We're free. You killed them. You saved me." She pressed into the fold of his arm, feeling his tight muscles beneath the thick leather jacket.

"Yeah. It's funny, I started having nightmares about then again last night for the first time since this whole zombie thing happened. It's like it was some bullshit premonition I would bump into them."

That's a good thing, though, isn't it? You got the chance to face up to them."

"Yeah. I'm not sure what I was thinking. Two against one. I'll tell you, don't ever bite into a man's throat. Tastes disgusting." The taste of the hot blood and stringy flesh and the ridged texture of Bill's adam's apple made him shudder.

"I'll keep that in mind. How's your headache?"

"Getting better. They're the fast acting variety, these tablets."

"Y'know what I read once in a chick magazine what's the best way to get rid of a headache?"

"What's that?"

Helen grinned mischievously, "C'mon, use your imagination…."

"What? I don't know." He shrugged innocently, stumped.

"Sex." She whispered.

"Oooh. How does that work?" he grinned, catching on, suddenly annoyed they chose the long way home.

"Endorphins. The rush of blood through your body stimulates the hormones and chemicals that make you feel good, relieving the ache."

"Hmm, OK."

"So, you better take me home so I can give you your medicine." She giggled.

"How many doses do I need?"

"As much as you can handle."

oooo00oooo

The afternoon turned into a long transition to dusk and then finally night, and the anticipated sex was rough and desperate. Finally, they melted down into the large King size bed, warm and comfortable in each other's arms, dozing off to sleep until deep into the night when they both woke up late, starving hungry for dinner.

Craig sat, relaxed and comfortable in bed as he watched Helen in the moonlight putting on her socks in her underwear. He watched as she stretched her leg, laying her heel on the butt of a chair as she pulled the sock up, the curve of her bum softened in the gloom. She turned, thinking he was dozing off, but was surprised to see him admiring her, looking her up and down, head to toe, an aching erection straining under the bed sheets.

"Hey, get dressed. I'm hungry." She barked playfully.

"Hey I'm taking you out on a date and I'm paying for the meal, so that means you have to pay me back with sex later." He joked, smirking cheekily.

She placed her hands on her hips, pretending to be incredulous and offended before she abruptly relented, "OK."

"Oh, I'm sure you'll be grateful." He continued to grin.

"Oh, I'm sure", she replied with fake sarcasm, prompting him to through a pillow at her and jump out of bed. She shrieked with surprise and ran out of the bedroom, pursued by the naked Craig, running through the house until he cornered her in the kitchen.

Playfully, he dove at her, grabbing her wrist, causing her to squeal with laughter and surprise and crash against the fridge with Craig right up in front of her. Breathing hard and hot, she snaked her hand around his straining, pulsing member and began stroking him, desire taking hold again.

oooo00oooo

After their rendezvous in the kitchen, they finally made their way out into the cold of the night, heading for the Fisherman restaurant to procure some dinner. Craig looked down at his watch, 1:12am and was promptly smacked on his bum as he trailed behind her through the front door.

A loud snapping sound broke the mood and Craig instantly looked for the sound. Curiously, the window next to him had a small hole in it surrounded by cracks and runs in the glass.

Helen stood dumbfounded, but Craig's reflexes kicked in, grabbing her by the waist and diving forward into the restaurant as what sounded like machine gun fire erupted all around them down on the foyer, smashing windows and sending flecks of wood and plaster flying all around them. The sudden noise was deafening and filled their senses, Helen unable to process what was going on, but Craig blindly pushed on deeper through the restaurant, shoving Helen between tables towards the kitchen. He couldn't see it in the dark and he eyes were almost completely shut as debris snapped and flew all about them.

With a violent push, they crashed through the kitchen double doors and onto the tiles of the floor in the faint light, the gunfire behind them only slightly dulled.

"What the fuck!?" Helen shouted above the noise.

"Go, just go! Out the back!" he shouted, pulling Helen up from the floor and running towards the back door passed the toilets and cool room, running half blind.

After what seemed like forever, they searched in the darkness and Craig found the door knob, yanking the door open as Helen yelped behind him.

Before he knew what happened, something hit hard into his stomach, knocking the wind out of him and he was flying out into the night through the open door. He hit the ground awkwardly, tumbling over into the leaf covered grass and passed a small tree which splintered and snapped in half as more gunfire barked down at him, flashes of light spewing from inside, between the open doorframe.

"GO!" he heard Helen shout from inside and scrambled to get to his feet, a difficult task confounded as his vision blurred and his burning lungs tried unsuccessfully to heave in air. Stumbling, he ran out into the darkness towards a small park.

Puffs of dirt shot up all around him as he gathered his balance somewhat, still unable to breathe and darted between some scraggly saplings. Forcing his legs to pump, he continued on, sharp branches scratching his face in the darkness, the moonlight blotted out by the bare canopy above.

Before long, the trees stopped and the way beyond opened into an open field towards the beach. Scrambling to think of what to do, he remembered the nature reserve to his left and darted across, seeking shelter in the scrub.

His lungs burned intolerably until he managed to heave in gulps of air, not daring to stop and catch his breath.

The moonlight was better now and faintly illuminated a log fence, which he clumsily hurdled and twigs snapped underfoot as he ran on into the reserve, the tree line visible before him.

A passing tree trunk thumped into his shoulder, sending him tumbling around and crashing into the grass, as the world went even darker. Disappearing altogether as visions of Helen flashed before him.


	38. Tables turned

**Dead Opportunities: Book 2**

**A New World Rises**

**Chapter 12: Tables turned**

Slowly, and painfully, the world seemed to come back, although it took a moment to register. Craig could swear his eyes were open, yet he couldn't see, but it took a moment to remember it was the middle of the night and he was lying cold and uncomfortable in the brush of a small forest.

With a seemingly Herculean effort, he managed to rise up and sit properly, bracing against a tree log. His lungs were burning and his head pounding, but he had presence of mind to check his watch.

1:22am.

Only ten minutes had passed since he checked his watch last, just before the bullets rained down at the Fisherman.

Helen.

They had Helen.

Was she even alive?

Goddamnit! With a start he shot up to his feet and instantly regretted it. Everything went multi-coloured and he collapsed down against in a light-headed stupor, his hands digging into the dirt feeling as though a thousand miles away.

Willing himself to stay awake, the flashing colours faded and everything came back into to focus again in the dark, his face and head feeling warmer as the blood pumped back up again.

Taking his time, but unaware of the noise he was making, he slowly planted his feet and rose up, steadying himself against a tree as his eyes felt they would pop out of his skull. Reaching idly into his pocket, he felt for the headache tablets that were still there and clumsily popped two more and dry swallowed them down. He didn't know whether it was some sort of placebo effect or the tablets actually working at unnatural speed, but his headache already started to subside.

Slowly, he stepped forward, eyeing the stars that glowed beyond the black tree canopy overhead, providing just enough light to see through the brush ahead and the log fence he remembered hurdling before when he sprinted in.

Slowly and carefully, searching out his feet looking for quiet steps amongst the twigs and dry leaves, he stepped forward back towards town as vision of a terrified Helen being grabbed by black spectral hands and pulled down into darkness assaulted him and raise his heart rate, flush with rising anger.

Those bastards.

oooo00oooo

"Yeah, she's pretty fuckable, aye?"

"Nice tits! I'm first."

"Fuck off! I'm first!

"No, I'm first."

"I'm first!"

"Fine. I got a solution. We'll spit roast her. I'll fuck her throat, you fuck her arse. Does _that_ work for you?"

"Ew! Fuck you! Get your own bitch. I'm not getting my dick out in front you, ya faggot!"

"Jesus zombie Christ! Fine, I'll let you go first, but you gotta give me a week's worth of smokes."

"Alright fine, just piss off, I'm horny and she's begging for it!"

"Fine, have fun, ya bastard."

The young man stepped outside, somewhat grateful to get away from his repugnant partner in crime. He hated working with him, his constant griping and selfish nature always meant he got in the way. Despite his whining, or maybe because of it, he wasn't even that good at his job anyway. He couldn't run for shit and was a crap shot. More than once, he had to cover for him when one of those undead freaks almost got him. Maybe next time I'll let 'em get him. He can get some zombie bastard smoking his cock with rotten teeth, instead. See if he likes that.

He reached down to grab a cigarette from his vest pocket, fingering the paper tubing between his thumb and index finger, trying to remember where he kept his lighter, when he remembered his partner had it.

Fucking mooch!

Irritated and cold, he turned and headed back inside the small house to find him and steal his lighter back. Hang on, it's not stealing when it's mine!

Stepping through the doorways, he was slightly interested that he heard nothing beyond the closed bedroom door in front of him. Maybe he's taking things slow, probably still feeling up this girl's tits, taking his time.

Greedy fucker.

He reached down for the door handle and shoved the door open, "Phil, you selfish bas-"

Frozen midsentence, he had just enough time to register Phil's eviscerated and blood soaked dead body before a sharp knife penetrated through his face and stuck out of the back of his head. His assassin a blurred figure, an outline of a man only, hidden in the darkness.

Craig withdrew the long knife as the young man's face spilled blood down the front of him through the cavity in his nose, clean down the middle, soaking into the carpet as his limp body slumped down like a dead weight against the mirrored wardrobes.

Craig reached down and wiped the blade clean against the rumpled bed sheets. The woman next to him clutched herself, half-naked in the gloom.

"Thanks, Craig."

"No worries Regina. You wait here. I gotta find Helen."

Exchanging a knowing nod, he quickly searched the young man's clothes, finding a pistol, silencer attached and a couple of spare magazines. That fat bastard, Phil, only had the knife, which was now securely tucked into a leather scabbard looped onto his belt, the pistol in his right hand.

Fingering the trigger excitedly, Craig stepped out into the hallway, his footsteps muffled well by the soft carpet until he reached the front door and stepped cautiously outside.

It was very dark, the moon hidden behind some clouds that were starting to sweep across the sky, dulling the moonlight and affording more darkness. Just what he needed.

Carefully, he stepped out onto the driveway and jogged across the front yard to the side fence. Even from this distance and muffled by the walls, he could hear the screams of a woman being raped in the house next door. He couldn't tell if it was Helen or not.

It didn't take long to find out. Although it was distasteful, Craig was glad these bikers were so pussy hungry. Each one of them was a sitting duck, still atop their prizes. This man was no exception.

One by one, they died, slashed open or stabbed and left to die, more often than not, alone with the women they sought to violate. Most of these examples pleaded for Craig to finish them off, but instead he smiled when he closed the doors behind him to leave them alone with their former prey, flush with painful and angry creativity, to avenge painfully stolen purity and slaughtered family members.

One by one, Craig cut them down, creeping through the town in the night, searching for Helen.

oooo00oooo

"Fuck you."

"Now, now, Helen. Be a good girl, or I'll get nasty on you."

"Fuck you."

Harry stood over his prize, triumphant and tall, much like his pulsing cock he so gently rubbed along her naked skin. "Helen, you have no escape. I'm going to give you the fucking of your life, then I'm going to bundle you into my car and take you back to my place for more." He gently rubbed the head of his penis against her nipples, savouring the warmth of her skin and the rush of her fear. "You're gonna call me master, and I'm gonna call you slut and you'll beg for me to kill you, but I won't."

"No…" she whimpered, straining against the ropes that held her down on the bed, trying to writhe away from his teasing member, rubbing softly along her.

"Oh yes." He hissed, obviously overjoyed and revelling in her despair. Rubbing in all the salt he could find. "And your boyfriend, Craig? Dead. They shot him, baby. My boys shot him down before he could get away."

"No……" she cried, the reality of his complete victory starting to sink in, with a wracking shudder.

"Now, I'm a little itchy, babe. You're all laid out for me, ready for it. I know you want this." He stepped back around, standing at the end of the bed, taking in the sight of her exposed pussy as she struggled to close her legs, held open by the ropes.

"No, I don't!" she screamed.

"Oh, honey. Every man, knows that when a woman says 'no', she means 'yes'." He waved his hand theatrically. "I'm only so happy to oblige your fantasies."

"No, fuck off!"

Harry stepped forward, relishing the sight of his cock inching forward to her vagina, teasingly rubbing against her pussy lips, slowly penetrating in.

Helen clenched up as best she, could, trying to squeeze herself shut and prevent him from entering her.

"You wanna play rough do ya? You prefer to have me take it from you than give it?" he whispered.

"Let me go…" she whimpered, frustration replacing her fear.

"That's right, beg for it. Tell me how much you like it." He laughed as he rubbed himself, deeper, roughly pushing himself around her vagina in circles as he became wetter. Helen sensed the inevitable as Harry finally started to press inside, slowly but surely penetrating her, until he was all the way in. She grimaced and winced at the pain.

"That's right…. Ooooh yeah, baby." He moaned triumphantly, relishing the moment and slowly beginning his rhythm as he reached up to massage her breasts.

He began to pick up speed, fucking Helen more forcefully until he noticed she stopped groaning and was looking over to the side. He followed her gaze and froze when a figure stepped forward from the glowing light, between draping curtains.

"Harry." The figure breathed, brandishing a gun, pointed straight for his forehead.

oooo00oooo

Try as he might, he had no idea where Harry could be. There were hundreds of houses on Phillip Island and he was running out of time. Helen's life was at stake, and the thought of failing her was more than he could bear.

Craig stopped in his tracks and retreated behind a wall corner, having spotted a house with two guards standing to attention outside, half hidden in the darkness, but betrayed by the glow of cigarettes burning.

Leaning around the corner carefully, he listened as the guards talked amongst themselves, just small talk.

Satisfied they were distracted, he scanned the street looking for the best way to take them down, when he heard a gun shot from inside.

The guards instantly stiffened at the sound and rushed inside through the front door. Seizing the opportunity, Craig ran into the empty street and soon crept up to the door, following inside, pistol drawn up and ready. Their muffled voices wafted back throughout the house, guiding him to them.

"Harry? Harry?"

"Sir, you OK?"

He poked his head around a hallway corner and saw them both, (1) knocking on a bedroom door.

Without hesitation, Craig stepped out into the hallway, right behind them and coolly shot them both in the back of the head before either had a chance. The muffled pop of the silenced pistol was surprisingly loud in the confined space. The volume and dull flash of the shot stunning him momentarily, but he regathered his senses quickly, woken by the thud of the two bodies collapsing against the door and pushing it open as their splattered blood and brain matter dribbled down the woodwork.

He stepped forward, the pistol clutched even tighter before him and side stepped by the doorway, covering behind the wall as he peered in.

"Helen?"

"Craig, look out!" he heard her cry back.

Luckily, his survival instincts overrode his desire to get to her as the loud crack of gun shots erupted from inside, smacking into the door frame, causing him to retreat back behind the wall.

"Craig! Help me!" he heard her cry, tearing his heart to pieces as he desperately searching for a way inside without being shot. He was no good to her dead.

At the thought, he caught himself looking down the slumped body of the guard he shot earlier and had an idea. Quickly, still under the barrage of gunfire the tore away at the door frame's edge, now splintered and broken, he reached down and grabbed the dead man's ankle, dragging him back towards him.

He was a solid man and looked as though he was wearing some kind of flak jacket or body armour.

Perfect.

Craig secured a good grip around the man's jacket, and held him up in front of him. After a quick count of three, he charged into the room, holding the man in front of him as the room erupted in a hail of gunfire, bullets smacking in the man, almost pushing Craig off his feet and falling backwards.

With a heave, Craig kept the body up and charged on, trying to find where the shooter was. Everything happened so fast, and he caught a fleeting glimpse of Helen naked on a bed next to him on his right as a flash caught his attention on the other side to his left.

Summoning all his strength, Craig swung the body around and charged down towards the noise.

"Oh God!" he heard a cry before he hit something and was bowled over. He fell forwards on top of the limp guard, pinning someone underneath. He jumped off and fumbled for his pistol, bringing it around and up in front, beading down on the trapped, but thrashing figure.

"Don't move, don't fucking move, Harry!" he shouted down the sights of his pistol, but could even now see something wasn't right.

"Stop! Don't shoot!" the figure shouted, a distinctly feminine voice.

"Drop your weapon and get up!" he shouted.

"OK OK! Don't shoot!" the woman cried and pushed the body off her, revealing a half naked woman, covered in blood, her face hidden by her messy hair. She rose carefully and her hair fell away, revealing the would-be assassin

"Sarah?" he stammered. His anger dropped as he tried to process what was going on, but he woke up when he heard a car rumble to life outside.

Sarah surged forward, grabbing for his gun, but Craig was much too strong and smacked her across the face with the gun handle, knocking her out cold and sprawled over a small couch.

"Go go! Just get him, baby!" Helen cried.

Craig instantly understood and jumped through an open window just ahead, stumbling out into the night in time to see the distinct red lights of the rear of a car disappear into the distance up the main road back towards the island gates.

He ran forward to give chase, but it was no use. The car was gone as quickly as the fleeting glimpse he first caught of it.

Frustration boiled over as he emptied the gun into the air, "FUCK!"

oooo00oooo

Cold, it's very cold.

Where am I?

Oh god! Oh god! Not here again.

"No….." she whimpered. A door creaked open in response and pale light cascaded down into the small room, a familiar sight standing before her, casting a sickly shadow.

She tried to resist, but the inevitability of her situation sunk in quickly and she gave up trying. She was strapped over the pommel horse again, naked, trapped and bound with Craig standing over her, his face blank.

"I'm sorry." She whimpered pathetically, but Craig's icy cold voice cut it apart.

"I'm not going to hurt you." He said, clear and devoid of emotion. "I just want to know why."

She hung her head, not just because it felt heavy, but she couldn't bear to look up at the man she just tried to kill, and whose lover she intended to kill. Especially when her excuse was so pathetic, at least to her.

"I love him. I'm sorry." She sobbed.

"Sarah, it's OK." I'm not going t hurt you, I just wanted to know why. That's it." Sarah looked up through the stray strands of hair covering her face and wasn't sure whether his calm demeanour was supposed to reassure her or not.

"Really?" she replied, the surprise and sense of relief obvious in her voice.

"Yeah. I'm not going to hurt you." He stood there for a moment as Sarah started to smile, but her relief disappeared as another shadowed figure stepped in beside him in the doorway, a woman.

"She is."

Sarah felt her heart constrict and tried to scream, but found no breath as she recognised Helen standing before her, stepping into the room. Her lungs refused to draw breath, as though someone had knocked the wind out of her with a hard punch to the stomach as Helen calmly stepped inside, a tool box in hand, which she set down on a small table.

"Oh god, oh god!" Sarah managed to breath, sounding like a squeaking mouse recoiling before the grinning cat about to devour her.

"Shall I leave you two alone, then?" Craig smiled to his love.

She turned and smiled back, reaching her hands up around the back of her neck to tie the apron she was wearing, 'kiss the cook' blazoned across the front, faded and almost indiscernible in the dim light.

"Yeah, baby. I got this. I'll come get you when I'm done. Don't wait up." She purred.

Craig blew a kiss and disappeared back through the doorway, away from sight, leaving the two women alone together as Sarah baulked at the coming nightmare.

"This will take a while."

**(1) This point denotes the place where Dead Opportunities hit 100,000 words! Yay to me! There was much rejoicing! Although there is much more to come, thanks for those who have reviewed and given comment so far. I thrive on criticism, so please leave a review.**

**I have also signed up to be a beta reader, so if you like my style or my content and are interested, drop me a line. I'll be happy to help out.**

**But it's two way, please leave me a review. I plan to keep writing beyond 150,000 words. I've got much more planned. Thanks to all, including:**

**Shadows**

**xXGageXx**

**LChoopacabra**

**Ezram (mate, Wesker)**

**Patrick of Nazareth**

**Anyone else who has dropped a review or has signed up for alerts. It's much appreciated!**

**Reviews are important to me and I am writing with a view to publishing, whether via a book deal or my own website. But stay tuned, there's more to come! A trilogy is planned and I've got heaps of big ideas for Craig!**

**Many thanks,**

**Hoobajoo**


	39. Curled Snake

**Dead Opportunities: Book 2**

**A New World Rises**

**Chapter 13: A Curled Snake**

"OW! Goddamn it!"

"Oh come on, you pussy."

"You insufferable bastard. You wanna swap?"

"No thanks."

Nico ignored the banter between Greg and Craig as he gripped Greg's arm, prodding and searching with his fingers to try and determine whether the bone was indeed broken, or even fractured. He dutifully ignored the undoubted pain he was causing his friend, but he had to be firm to be sure of his findings.

"Oweee!"

"'Oweee?' What's 'oweee?' You _are_ a pussy." Craig teased.

"Bastard." Greg muttered back as Nico released his arm.

Straightening up, Nico stared back down at poor Greg and steeled his jaw. "Craig is correct my friend. You are a little girl."

Greg was incredulous. "What do you mean? What the fuck are you two on about?" His patience, tolerant of the jokes and barbs from before, was running thin.

"Your arm is broken, but it's nothing serious. I think it's just a hairline fracture. A crack in the bone or some such. It is not out of line." He replied, dead pan and humourless.

Craig was unable to pass up the opportunity, giggling uncontrollably. "See? It's official. Nico is the man and he says you're a pussy."

"Suck my dick."

"No can do, mate. According to Nico, you ain't got one."

"I don't deserve this."

Craig turned and grabbed a paddlepop stick, used earlier to look down Greg's throat. Pressed between his two fingers, he tapped the stick on each of Greg's shoulders ceremoniously. "I now dub thee, Sir Pussy of Greg."

"It is a fitting title." Nico guffawed, his face softening as Greg seemed to accept the dubious honour with encroaching humour.

"Yeah, yeah. So what happens next. Plaster?"

Nico folded his arms across his ample stomach, "I'm not thinking that's necessary. I'm not a doctor and I've never formally done plaster before. But back home when my younger brother did the same to his arm when he was little, he survived with a simple split. I would think a similar apparatus would suffice."

"You need a split?" Craig held up the paddle pop stick still held in his fingers and gave it to Greg. "You can use this."

Greg's mood seemed to improve with Nico's confident diagnosis. "Yeah, go find me a rubber band or two and I'll be right."

The two friends shared a smile and a laugh, before Nico continued with a slightly grim tone. "In all seriousness, my friend, I would think you will need to keep your arm in a proper splint close to 6 weeks or so. No fighting zombies. They are not doctor's orders, but they are my orders."

Greg, at first disappointed by the news, managed to shrug the maudlin off, "All the more for you Craig."

"I don't deserve this." He whined playfully.

oooo00oooo

The dining table before them seemed slightly indignant of the mess on top of it. It was a beautiful example of fine dining furniture. Indeed, it had been used many times to celebrate special occasions before the zombie plague, including a Liberal party dinner during the last election. The Prime Minister had sat at the head of the table and personally spilt red wine down the side. A slight tinge of black red on the carpet by the table still served as proof.

But now it was littered with pages of butcher's paper and markers of all sorts of colours.

A diagram in the middle amongst the mess was the centre piece and all eyes bore down on it with ominous intensity.

"Sarah drew out this design. It's a rough outline of the biker territory in Moe." Helen spoke strongly in the expectant silence. "The whole place is lined with either steel sheeting or wooden planks, taking advantage of various buildings, to house the remaining inhabitants. There's a front gate, a fair bit like our own, a side gate off to the west and a rear gate to the south. They are the only ways in by car."

"How many guys did we kill last night?" Greg asked, nursing his newly splinted arm like it was a newborn baby.

"You mean how many did Craig kill last night." She corrected him with good humour. She gazed up at her man with shining admiration and pride as he softly patted her on her behind. "17 men. Sarah said there was a biker population of about 30 and about another 20 or so civilians, for a total of 50 residents. Given that Craig has taken care of the 17 from last night and 3 more men back in Inverloch, that leaves only 10 men we need to worry about.

"What do you think he should do, Craig?" Con asked nervously. Although he had been assured it was not his fault, he had been particularly hard on himself for the fiasco involving Sharon back at Red Hill. She seemed like such a nice woman, not the twisted psycho that Craig had to deal with. He had now volunteered to help with the operation despite his inexperience with guns or violence of any sort. At least he was trying.

Craig mulled the question over as he felt the weight of all eyes fall on him. Surprised at himself, he was not bothered by the burden of leadership and expectation, instead revelling in it. After all, he had a core team to rely on and watch his back.

"I think we should sneak in tonight under the cover of darkness. We climb over the eastern wall and sneak around town and kill off as many soldiers as we can. Then we can deal with Harry. Leave him for last."

"Yeah, I've got a baseball bat with his name on it." Greg volunteered, spitting acid through his teeth with disgust.

"No, mate. Regina does." Donald interjected, followed by a "damn right" from the woman by his side.

Craig hushed the growing enthusiasm with a wave of his hand. "This is not going to be easy. For all we know, Harry has done a runner." The remark silenced the whole room, leaving the paper on the table to crinkle softly as would a cricket sing during the silent aftermath of an unfunny joke. "He knows we are coming after him. I honestly don't know whether he's waiting for us, or whether he's cutting his losses and running off. In either case, we'll need to be careful."

Craig continued on, outlining the exact details of his plan to the undivided attention of his small army, sweeping his hand over the crude diagram like a general devising a war plan.

oooo00oooo

Donald crouched in silence amongst the leaves and twigs. He would ordinarily have complained he was too old to be gallivanting around like this, but it was life and death, and he was intent on the death part.

His beloved wife had nearly been raped by one of those dogs back during the invasion. He had been knocked out with a sharp pistol whip to the head. Absently, he ran his fingertip over the butterfly bandage and stitches Nico had applied later that night.

He had failed his lady. He had always promised her he would protect her and he had failed. The last thought he could remember going through his mind before everything went black was the seemingly contradictory rush of both fury and hopelessness.

He would be forever grateful for Craig's rescue. Not only did he kill Regina's would be rapists, but she had been spared any violation. Thank God.

Now as he crouched in the dirt and leaves on the outskirts of the biker's Moe base, waiting for the signal in the darkness, he promised himself he would march into Hell if it meant he could repay the favour.

oooo00oooo

Patient, I must be patient.

I broke my goddamn arm trying to take out one of these guys and I fucked that up royally, but I can't fuck up here. Greg was sweating with anger and nervousness. The small laser pen clutched in his good hand was only slightly heavier than a pound, but it felt like a ton as he watched the men before him mill about.

They were a couple of guardsmen doing some sort of patrol. Craig had urged patience as part of the plan. After all they had all night to execute the operation, but these guys were taking their time. It didn't matter. He had watched them do a couple rotations around the base and he had timed that they averaged a window of about 10 minutes when Craig could sneak in and out undetected.

But that would only be a necessary window to worry about if Donald doesn't manage to take them down.

OK, here we go. These two jokers are moving and have rounded the corner out of sight.

With a determined press of his thumb, a red laser shot out from the little pen, flashing across towards the bushes where Donald was hiding. Having seen the signal, Donald relayed the message through his own laser pen to Craig who rose up out of the brush further away and quietly crept down into the base. His footsteps were amply muffled by the soft grass and worn sneakers he wore. His breath was hot in his black balaclava as he reached the brick wall of the first building they knew a couple of men had entered previously.

Fingering the trigger of his silenced pistol, he crept around the corner, eyeing the moonlit distance for movement and found an open window. Slowly and carefully, he crawled through the opening.

oooo00oooo

She wanted to die.

She had always wanted to grow up and become the manager of her father's book store when he finally retired. She loved books. Always had since she could ever remember.

It was as though she was not in her own body. It was as though she was a ghost looking down on her own ordeal and pedantically, yet with a removed sense of loss, recorded every detail. She would write a book about this just before she planned to commit suicide. Someone had to document what was happening here.

Absently, she could taste the dirty and bitter taste of her rapist's unwashed and sweaty cock being shoved ruthlessly down her throat. It had been particularly traumatic and painful the first few times where she could swear she was going to choke to death, but she was already learning through her removed analysis how to deaden the dreaded gag reflex.

She closed her eyes. It wasn't necessary to see the face of her slave driver whose cock she was choking down, nor the dirty man's partner who was masturbating next to him. She could hear them moan and joke amongst themselves callously. I'm not a woman. I don't matter, they say. I'm just a slut.

Please let me die.

Continuing on, she resolved to get this over with. The sooner they cum, the sooner they go and I can get back to my writings and closer to my release. The sooner they can leave me alone, she rationalised.

Absently, she could feel a warm spray across her face and supposed the masturbator had cum prematurely in her hair. Another rush of warm wetness coated her face and she flinched slightly, but accepted it.

But something was wrong. She could sense it and she risked a moment's pause to open her eyes.

Immediately she recoiled and tried to scream, but the cock in her mouth muffled it. There was blood everywhere and the throats of the two rapists sitting before her had been slashed open, nearly decapitated.

Strangely, she almost couldn't help to laugh as she noticed their erections still stood proudly despite their deaths and she suddenly registered the assassin looking down on her from the gloom.

Suddenly conscious and ashamed of her nakedness before this man she didn't know, she covered as best she could and tried to crawl away.

"It's OK. It's alright. You're safe." Then shadowy man whispered. He appeared like a demon curling out from the shadows as he sheathed his bloody knife away. Outstretched hands promise safety and she saw through her fear and shame, diving forward to embrace her hero.

"I wanna go home." She cried, tears streaming down her face, mixing with the warm blood that dripped down to her chin and onto her bare legs.

"It's OK. I got you. I got you." His words were warm and fatherly. Like a thick blanket, she melted into his secure arms. "What's your name?"

"Shellie. Muh-my name's Shellie."

"I'm Craig. Come with me. I'll get you out of here."

oooo00oooo

"What's taking so long?" Donald whispered.

"I dunno. I'm sure he knows what he's doing." Regina replied, crouched down in the brushed next to him.

"He's only got a couple of minutes before the guards circle around again. I don't wanna risk taking them on and missing my shot."

"Don't worry honey. You'll be able to do it if you have to. I know you can" she smiled warmly in the darkness. Though the moonlight was mostly blocked out between the thick maze of leaves and branches overhead, Donald couldn't miss the beaming and admiring smile of his precious wife. Strength flooded his body in response and he felt ready.

The guards were moving towards the little building Craig entered before. Shit. If Donald didn't take them out they would discover Craig inside when they have a look.

Sensing her husband's apprehension, she urged him on confidently.

"Go."

As though it was a starter's gun, Donald quietly rose out from the hiding spot, softly cursing the pins and needles in his feet and the ache of his slightly arthritic knees and pushed on towards the two guards.

Slowly he pulled out the pistol from his back pocket and fingered the trigger. It took all of the effort he could muster to suppress the terrified shaking of his hands. He couldn't fuck this up.

Although he was definitely afraid, it was not as bad as he thought it would be. Indeed, he had never felt so alive as now.

The two guardsmen, relaxed and joking amongst themselves were oblivious of his encroaching presence as he closed in.

oooo00oooo

"Come on. Time to go." He whispered to the young woman, ushering her towards the door. She had taken a little longer than he wanted getting dressed again. "Quiet. You stay right behind me. Move fast, OK?"

"OK" she whispered back, unable to hide her grateful smile.

Poking an eye through the crack in the ajar doorway, he checked whether those two guards were back yet. He had checked his watch and it was a little tight for time. They would be back soon.

Gripping the handle of his silenced pistol, he slowly pulled open the door and crept outside, panning the gun around. Finding nothing but empty darkness, he relaxed somewhat and motioned for the girl to follow. Like a timid mouse she tip toed out and followed him as he slithered out, hugging the wall.

"What the fuck?!"

Craig whirled around in a panic at the surprised voices behind him. It was the two guards, but they already had their guns up and ready to blow them away.

Closing his eyes in anticipation, he fell limply to the ground as two sharp whispered pops sounded off in quick succession.

"Craig, get up."

Opening his eyes, he saw the two men slumped on the ground and Donald standing over them like a lion proud of his kill. The moment soon passed as Donald hissed at them somewhat impatiently. "Come on! Let's go."

Without a word, Craig jumped to his feet with a grateful nod to his friend and ran out towards the bushes by the fence line where he had waited before. Shellie followed obediently and wordlessly behind him, flanked by Donald as they tumbled down into the soft grass and leaves of their hiding spot.

"That's four down and one rescue." Craig reported before anyone had a chance to argue with the new arrival. "Shellie, this is Donald and Regina."

Regina smiled warmly and embraced the frightened, but relieved girl. "You're safe, child. I got you." Shellie sniffled and sobbed softly into Regina's soft breasts, like a lost child having been reunited with her mother.

Instantly turning back to the task at hand, Donald and Regina turned to Craig.

"Alright. Those were the guards that were awake. They others will likely be sleeping. We have to find them and take them out."

"But this place is too big to search." Donald complained.

Craig flinched. He was right, but instantly he caught himself looking to Shellie who was staring back at him with steely resolve. "I know where they are. I can show you."

"Are they all in one place?"

"Yeah, except for that Harry guy. He's got his own house."

A new plan formed in Craig's mind. "Donald, Shellie. You are with me. Regina, signal Helen and bring her here. We are gonna need some firepower for this hit. She's got the MP5."

"Right." And in an instant, like a dutiful soldier, Regina nodded and shot out into the darkness and disappeared.

Craig was about to bark an order at Donald, before he noticed the gun in his hand was shaking.

"I just killed two men, Craig. I have sinned." He whimpered, a pleading sadness contorted his face.

Reaching over, Craig laid a hand on his shoulder. "You saved us."

Relief and happiness instantly washed over him, removing the cloud that hung over his shoulders. Donald smiled through encroaching tears.

'Thanks, Donald."

His debt had been paid.

oooo00oooo

Slowly and quietly, the four of them crept through the empty streets in the moonlit darkness. Shellie was doing an excellent job leading the way. She was as lithe as a cat and the others, particularly Donald, had a hard time keeping up whilst maintaining silence.

Finally, she stopped outside an innocent looking house and motioned inside.

Donald and Helen instantly dispersed and took up covering positions near the windows, cocking their guns inwards and training down into the darkness.

With a reassuring pat on her shoulder, Craig thanked Shellie for her bravery and slowly inched the front door open and crept inside.

Tip toeing silently, it took a moment for his eyes to adjust to the darkness. It wasn't quite pitch black he noticed. There was a glowing light floating in from somewhere, but he had no time to investigate it. Before him in what looked like a lounge room, mattresses criss-crossed the floor. The tell tale bulges beneath the sheets and the jarring snores gave away the men sleeping soundly. All five of them. No one was missing.

Craig reached down for the combat knife sheathed on his belt, grinning wickedly.

Like candy from a baby.

oooo00oooo

Craig emerged moments later to the knowing grins of his companions outside. Shellie, expecting the obvious question motioned out into the darkness again and the party followed in behind.

It didn't take long at all until they were standing at the front door of a relatively large house. A double story monstrosity of boxy modern architecture done very wrong. Thankfully, not all of its grotesque design was visible or obvious in the moonlight.

Not that it mattered. Everyone's eyes were boring into the front door as Donald and Helen again flanked out to the side and stood guard near some front windows.

"You sure he's in here?" Craig whispered to Shellie.

"Yes."

A heavy weight suddenly materialised in his stomach, excitement building and amplifying the bloodlust that had built with every slashing death he had dealt just before.

Sensing the coming onslaught, Shellie backed away and hid behind Helen.

A quick look towards Helen sent a sharp gush of blood to his crotch, fuelling a stony erection, burning and pulsing in anticipation of the coming revenge.

A wink a and nod back and forth, and Craig was ready.

With his pistol feeling as light as a feather, the door silently opened with a slight nudge and Craig flinched back as a figure stood tall and solid before him.

A cold acidic gurgling in his stomach threatened to make him choke in disgust and the hairs on his neck stood on end with the sudden realisation that something was very wrong.

Craig willed his legs to run, but could only back away slowly as the figure stepped forward, poking its face through the doorway and into the moonlight.

The flash of recognition was as it was before. Instant and unmistakable.

It was Billy. His exposed and torn throat gurgled and pulsed as he growled. Slowly, he raised his arms towards Craig, before charging with a blood curdling shriek.


	40. Mysterious New Enemy

**Dead Opportunities: Book 2**

**A New World Rises**

**Chapter 14: A Mysterious New Enemy**

Craig only had a moment to register what happened. Billy stood before him. How is that possible? He wondered absently as the monster surged towards him. It was him, but it wasn't him. His eyes were blood red and his skin was criss-crossed by a series of pulsing black veins, obvious even in the dim night.

Trapped in a frozen shellshock, Craig tried to dive away or run, but his legs simply refused to work properly. It was like yelling at a small child to put something away, but it defiantly continued to slobber and chew on their prized toy. They just wouldn't co-operate.

Craig's world seemed to slow down as the creature closed in. He could swear it was smiling wickedly at him, as though comprehending its prize was there for the taking.

The rest of the group were similarly frozen and could not help but take in the unholy sight before them. All but one.

Donald could see the death that was coming and his old legs pumped and pushed for all they were worth, diving into the monstrosity and sending them both tumbling into the grass, rolling down the gentle slope passed Helen and Shellie who recoiled away with a scream.

Donald had a moment to see the monster's gaping skull of a face growl and roar at him before what seemed like a hundred knives stabbed into his chest. They burned and dug deep into his flesh, snaking through his rib cage and wrapping around the bones as it whipped him up off the ground and violently threw him away like a cat discarding a disembowelled bird.

In the moment the world flew by as he sailed through the air, he managed to catch a glimpse of Regina. He made eye contact for a split moment, but there was no telling whether she saw the calm sadness in his eyes before his flying body slammed into a wall. He knew he was about to die, and silently prayed it would be useful.

Were it not for the air of danger, one could almost have laughed at the comical way his body seemed to flatten against the brickwork and his spine broke inwards like a accordion. With a sickening crack, his skeleton imploded and his flesh pulverised, killing him instantly as he bounced back down to the ground in a broken heap.

The entire group could not help but stare at the disgusting display, dumbfounded by the suddenness and violent act that ripped Donald out of existence and reduced him to a bloody pulp.

The creature rose and stood in the open, its features now visible in the moonlight. It was no longer human, Craig could see. Its body was taller, more squared than Billy's overweight frame. He could see its hands clasp open and closed, but its fingers were much too long, as though a small child had the hands of a basketballer. Everything about this creature was more animal than man, but even then he could not bring to mind any particular animal that was similar. It was almost alien.

It raised its fists to the sky and a primal cry erupted from its gaping maw, as though taunting the companions to join their friend in violent death. In that moment, Craig's mind twisted as revenge and fury burned its way through his veins, lighting his body on fire and snapping it into action.

The creature seemed to sense the coming confrontation and surprisingly, darted away from Craig and down a nearby street with impossible speed, its feet pounding down on the concrete. Craig broke out into a run, grabbing the MP5 away from a startled Helen and gave chase, screaming obscenities. The warnings and cries from his friends disappeared into a haze of red anger and the hulking creature disappeared down an alleyway.

Blindly, Craig rushed onward and followed, bringing the machine gun to bear in front of him. Turning down the alleyway and expecting to find the monster there waiting for him, he slowed into a confused stumble upon finding it was an empty dead end.

Billy was nowhere to be seen. The continuing cries of his friends wafted through the air as though they were an entire world away.

Suddenly, Craig whipped around as something crashed loudly into the ground behind him. It was Billy and it suddenly dawned on Craig what it had done. The only exit was cut off. It had boxed him in.

Craig's anger receded as the realisation hit that this creature was no dumb zombie. It had outsmarted him. Whatever it was.

It hulked and towered over him. Billy had always been built a large man and his mixture of fat and muscle added to his imposing figure, making him an ideal standover man. However, if Billy had ever been compared to a bear, then this thing was an Abrams tank. It was a hulking mass of black veined muscle. Craig felt like a stumpy dwarf under the monster, aware of the sweat that rolled down his forehead as he tried to find the moon light that was blocked out by the monster.

It seemed to pause a moment, taking the time to revel in Craig's encroaching terror. It smiled again at him, bearing jagged teeth and growling, "Craaaaaaaag."

Its voice was like nails on chalk board as it stepped forward slowly, making Craig step back in desperation until his heel tapped against the alley way wall, the dead end having been reached.

"Craaaag." The monster growled teasingly, continuing to step towards him.

"But I killed you." Craig squeaked.

"Noooooo." The monster seemed to whisper cruelly.

Hot flashes of memory surged through Craig's mind, walls of steel and blood locking him in a prison and pressing down on him. Torn bony fingers stabbing into him, piercing his flabby body, violating and prodding him. Sledgehammers and barbed wire smashed into him, covering him in an aching blanket of pain and he recoiled with a scream.

"Yesssssss." The monster hissed as Craig look up at him on hands and knees. He tried to crawl away, pulling himself into the corner as the monster leaned over him, opening its rancid mouth and letting a putrid tongue spill out. It dangled down, looking for him as Craig tried his best to flinch away from it.

"Craig!" Helen's voice pierced through the terror and caused the monster to withdraw and turn in surprise.

Craig seemed to wake from the crippling dream and felt the trigger of the MP5 machine gun still clutched in his hand. It felt heavy and solid and seemed to lift his hand for him, pointing the gun's barrel into the monster's face just as it turned back to check on its prey.

The monster seemed to register the weapon for a moment and seemed to shrug in defeat as Craig pulled the trigger. The gun bucked and erupted in his iron grip, sending waves of lead into the hapless creature's face and tearing it in half. Blood and pieces of flesh splattered everywhere, coating both Craig and the alley walls in a sickeningly thick bath.

Before long, Craig felt the gun slacken in his hand and the cacophony stopped, replaced by a faint ringing in his ears. Spluttering slightly, he blinked and took in the sight before him of the monster slumped on the asphalt by his feet. From its head down to where it navel should be, it was practically cut in half. It was a gruesome sight, like nothing he'd seen before. It was not what he had expected.

He had seen the charred pile of bodies back at Inverloch and he had blown or cut open both zombies and living men, but this sight was something else entirely. Black blood oozed and congealed everywhere, slurping down the brick walls like yoghurt and burning his skin as though it was hot water. It was a viscosity that reminded him of yoghurt, but it looked like black crude oil.

The smell was unbearable. It was worse than the sight that befouled his eyes. It conjured forth images of mass graves, rotting flesh and putrid thick mud. Truly, he had not beheld an aroma as disturbing and sickening as this and he instantly got to his feet and trampled over the carcass to escape the smell. The bones in his legs seemed to morph into rubber bands as he stumbled out into the open street and collapsed into Helen's waiting arms.

"Craig, are you OK?" she wailed.

Her question was met with a stream of vomit that exploded from his stomach, spraying the street as he desperately tried to force the smell from his senses. His eyes bulged and felt they would escape the confines of his eye sockets as he willed the unholy sensation out of his body, like trying to expel pus out of a bulging pimple. The strain of the effort, mercifully, blanketed him in a black and lightheaded darkness as he fainted in a choking fit into her lap as she cried.

oooo00oooo

Slowly, the ceiling light of the bedroom he knew well came into view and his swimming head started to settle. Instantly, the memory of the encounter with the unholy monster assaulted him and he tried to sit up, but a strong hand held him down. He tried to struggle, but he recognised the gentle but firm fingertips of Helen as they massaged his tightened chest and willed him back down to rest.

"It's OK, babe." Her whisper was like honey in a sea of barbed wire. "Just rest, OK? I got you."

Her voice continued to waft through his senses as he fell back down into a thick sleep.

oooo00oooo

"What happened after I blacked out?"

"Um."

"Donald's dead, isn't he?"

"Yes."

"He saved my life, didn't he?"

"Yes."

"Did you find Harry?"

"No. We didn't find anyone else."

"What about Bob?"

"We found his body. He's dead. He's not like Billy."

Craig mulled the events over as he rested his feet in a milk crate, cradling a cool beer in one hand and Helen's hand in the other.

"I don't understand, Craig. What happened to Billy?" Helen asked, her puzzlement matched by her sadness as she watched on Regina sitting in a rocking chair further down the porch, staring vacantly into the horizon. The sun was setting gently down onto the purple hillside.

"I dunno." Craig mumbled. Flashes of recollection calmly emerged in Craig's mind, replaying what had happened the night before. Questions and half answers swirled around in his mind, trying to make sense of the quandary. That monster was not a zombie. Billy had died when Craig had bitten his throat out in a pit fight back at Moe. It had been a few days since then now. Why did Billy turn into that monster and not a regular zombie? By rights, he shouldn't even have turned into a zombie. He wasn't bitten by one.

I had bitten him. Was that the difference?

Craig sipped the warming beer absently and his heart seemed to quicken at the alarming thought.

Helen clutched her lover's hand tightly, sensing something important weighing on his mind, but turn to find Nico approach with a heavy posture, as though burdened by the news he brought.

"His body is ready. I did the best I could." He said dejectedly.

Regina continued to stare into the fading sun as though she heard nothing, prompting Helen to thank him.

Nodding absently, he turned and walked back towards the cemetery.

"Regina." Helen said softly, trying to coax her out of her sorrow. It seemed to work as Regina turned slightly to prick her ears. "Let's go say goodbye, huh?"

Regina nodded heavily, giving in to the inevitable task of seeing her beloved husband into his coffin like a tired old woman. She seemed to have aged immeasurably as she rose out of her chair with a whimper and collapsed into Helen's arms. Craig moved to help, but Helen quietly shooed him away as she comforted her friend.

oooo00oooo

The service was just as Donald had requested a long time ago. "Short and sweet. No dicking around and no mushy bullshit." He had said and thanked Nico for his kind words, having taken the role of a priest, saying the normal words. Ashes to ashes, dust to dust and all of that sort.

Craid spoke as best he could about how much he respected him, how much of a good man he was, but the words seemed to ring somewhat hollow. He couldn't summarise or justify Donald's life in only a few moments and it all seemed so inadequate. Try as he could, he could only blurt out a few words at the end, staring hopeless into Regina's bloodshot and tired eyes.

"He saved my life."

She nodded, gracefully and dutifully accepting the condolence. Before long, Nico wrapped up the funeral and they all proceeded home with heavy hearts.

Craig, however, was more nervous than sad as he walked with Helen's hand in his. One thought kept him up all night, even as Helen fell asleep, draped over his chest in the warm bed.

Would Donald stay dead? He wondered.


	41. Skeletons from the past

Dead Opportunities: Book 2

**Dead Opportunities: Book 2**

**A New World Rises**

**Chapter 15: Skeleton's from the past**

Slowly Craig wandered through the streets alone as a bitterly cold wind buffeted against his jacket. The air was ice cold, more so than usual given the strange tickle of death that seemed to lace his thoughts.

Horror, revulsion, curiosity, trepidation.

Whatever big words you try and think of, I can only describe what I feel with two words, Craig spoke silently.

Scared shitless.

He had hopped into a car and driven here alone, eager to escape everyone around him to get a chance to think. Helen, who always seemed to be his rock to stand on when he felt he was sinking was one of the very reasons he wanted to get away.

The revelation that was Billy's appearance two days ago had sent a lightning bolt through his previously calm and focused world. Everything seemed so simple prior to this. There were three objectives if he were to approach it like he supposed a military mind might.

Survive. Keep himself alive and those around him.

Be happy. Love Helen and keep her safe.

Revenge. Kill Harry.

Now he looked down on the physical manifestation of his worries. Billy's corpse had not been touched since it had been blown apart in the alleyway, and the smell although still repugnant, was now bearable having subsided since.

He had somehow created this monster. He was not a normal zombie. Not the everyday and certainly not what was expected.

Billy had intelligence. He knew his name.

"Craaaaaaag." It had whispered evilly as though the devil itself had spoken to him. The recollection now sent a shiver down his spine as he looked down on the vanquished foe. The monster's blood had dried and scabbed against the walls. Great puddles clung to the brickwork and cried black steams of tears down to the concrete below, as though trying to send whatever lifeblood it could back down to the torn body still lying in a twisted mess in a vain hope to revive it.

Craig willed his back straight and killed whatever traces of fear he could detect in his conscious thought, reminding himself that he should not fear the physical form of the monster. He had killed it himself after all.

But it was the lingering idea that he had given birth to this abomination that was the real source of worry. He had no doubt now that he had somehow created this monster because of the way he had killed Billy. Reporters and scientists on the TV when it was still on confirmed that people were becoming zombies because of a virus. The virus had either killed people via an initial airborne infection and turned them naturally, or the virus infected a host and turned them after death when contaminated by the bodily fluids of a zombie.

Billy's death did not fit either of these two categories. Craig had only one explanation. A third way.

Craig carried a mutated version of the virus that acted after death took hold.

Billy had been infected by this virus via Craig's saliva when he had bitten his throat out.

Yet, he could not explain or confirm with any confidence what other details held. Was Helen infected with a latent dose? Was it also a sexually transmitted disease? Would Helen convert into a monster if she died?

Who else had he had sex with? He wondered.

Sarah.

Sarah was not dead…. yet. Helen had brutally tortured her after Harry's gang raided them, but she was still alive. Just.

Anyone else?

Katey.

Katey was dead.

And he knew where to look to find her.

oooo00oooo

"Yeah, he left just an hour ago. Why?" Jonas Mapleton was one of the survivors of Moe. He had been held captive in the slave pens with the other men, but he had no wife held in sexual bondage to worry about. His wife of 18 years had been killed when the zombie outbreak began and had thankfully been killed again by one of the biker guards at the front gate one day.

It broke his heart he was not given the chance to bury her at the time, but he was forever thankful he had been set free to recover her body and bury her this morning in the backyard of their house under his prized maple tree (after his namesake).

He was one of the few straggling residents of Moe taking care of personal matters before he relocated to Phillip Island. It was because of this that he was on the radio to Helen and shrugged with puzzlement as to why she wouldn't stop crying.

"It's OK. Don't worry about it." She managed to say between her choking sobs and hung up on the bewildered man. Trying hard to stifle her tears and carry herself with some measure of dignity, she rose and walked outside to find Greg waiting for her.

"Greg, I need your help."

"What is it?"

"I'm worried about Craig. He's left Moe, but not to come back here."

"Really?"

"Yeah, do you have any idea where he could be going?"

"Helen, I'd tell you if I knew anything. He's my friend too remember?"

"Yeah, sorry. I know."

"We have to wait here for when he comes back."

"Oh god I have to do something. Anything!" she screamed and dropped to the ground in a tired heap. Greg tried to catch her, but he was too slow to reach out for her and he couldn't help but wince as a sharp stab of pain rushed up his arm. Although it had been wrapped in a splint, it was still tender and vulnerable.

Helen wept without bothering with any pretense of privacy or subtlety. She worried deeply for the only man she had ever truly loved in her whole life and she didn't care who noticed.

"Inverloch."

The name immediately caused her tears to cease as the world seemed to piece itself back together again. It made sense.

"That's the only other place I know of that he's been to. That's where I found him and you found him right? Let's go there and see." Greg suggested with arms crossed tightly across his chest in spite of the pain in his forearm.

"Yes." Helen rose and wiped away the tears. She was barely aware of Greg following in behind her as she pulled a set of car keys out of her pocket and walked towards her truck.

oooo00oooo

The familiar gravel of the front yard crunched quietly underfoot as he edged closer towards the front door. Bodies piled high on the dry lawn had shriveled and withered with time. They had not been disturbed it seemed, although given the messy nature of the confrontation at the time, it was difficult to be confident of that. Through the silence, hoards of flies buzzed through the air and maggots spilled from various orifices that still provided shelter from the elements, hiding wet fleshy morsels for the little worms to gorge further.

Stepping over a stray skeletal arm that draped across his path, he leveled the machine gun up before him and reached for the front door. A heady mix of fear and desire coursed through his veins. His blood pumped in his ears, dulling his trained senses with a steady thud.

With a fleeting smile, the door opened easily in his grip. Unlocked just as he had left it.

The door swung open without a sound to reveal the foyer and lounge room. The air was warm with stagnation and dust as he stepped inside. He was glad the carpet muffled his steps, allowing him to progress silently onward as he scanned around him through the machine gun's sights. So far, nothing seemed out of place.

He moved quickly, eager to confirm his terrible hypothesis. Stepping forward quickly, he proceeded through the lounge room and approached the closed door leading to the kitchen. Carefully, he began to pull the door open and he winced as it squeaked in protest. With a concerted tug, it began to give way, but Craig instantly stopped when he saw something very out of place through the small gap.

A small smattered blood stain stuck to the painted wood, fingerprints even now still visible in the dried black liquid.

Black.

It had not been there when he left here. He was sure of it.

Swallowing his encroaching fear and anticipation, he shoved the door open with a strong push and trained the gun up in front of him. Darting the gun back and forth with panicked jerks of his hands and arms, he took in the scene before him and relaxed somewhat to find it was largely normal.

The card table in the middle was just as he left it, bare except for a bowl of noodles that now sat desiccated and shriveled, clinging to the edges and a glass of water that was half full, now empty.

Relaxing for a moment, he stepped inside but did not let the machine gun drop. His boots thudded softly down in the tiled floor as he turned right and saw something that caused him to pause. Another thing that was out of place.

The green door to the garage was open and ajar.

Panic suddenly coursed through his veins, propelling him forward and pulling the door open to reveal the bare walls of the garage inside.

A solitary blood stain occupied the middle of the cold concrete floor, its rounded edges interrupted by the outline of a body that was not there anymore.

Katey was missing.

Panic surged up his spine and wrapped invisible hands around his neck, choking the breath out of him as he whirled around and searched frantically through the gun sights for any trace of her. Running through the house in a semi-blind rush and screaming her name, he found nothing and collapsed against the side of the dining table as he tried to gather his senses among the panic attack.

Slowly, he managed to calm himself down and focus his thoughts.

He had found no broken windows so far showing she had escaped and she obviously wasn't here. Sitting down on a dining chair, he rested his head in his hands and only now saw the traces of black blood in the carpet at his feet.

Rising back to his feet, he followed them and found that they began from the garage and snaked out through the kitchen and down the hall into the dining room where he came from. Following them on, he paused as they continued up the stairs.

Katey's bedroom.

He hadn't searched up there yet. He adjusted his grip on the gun again, feeling very heavy and straining his tense shoulders and he slowly ascended with the gun's barrel leading.

There was no doubt now that Katey had turned, but he couldn't yet be certain whether she would be like Billy was or something else again. Maybe she would be just a regular zombie. He could handle that.

But if she was a monster and somehow retained some memory, maybe she indeed was hiding in her bedroom waiting for him. The thought sent another shiver of fear up his spine, which he tried to dispel by fingering the trigger of the heavy weapon and continued on despite his own reluctance. He wanted to just leave, go home and wrap his arms around Helen and forget it ever happened. This part of his past was supposed to be forgotten. She was supposed to be dead and no one was ever supposed to find her.

Now he hoped to God that she indeed was here. Then he could take care of her and kill her once and for all and close this part of his life away so no one would ever know.

Slowly the stairs filed away one by one as he came closer to the top and could see Katey's bedroom door was open. A smudge of black, the unmistakable smear of dirty bloody fingers against the door's face both pushed him away and pulled him on.

Breathing heavily and trying to ignore the pounding heartbeat in his ears, he finally laid a foot on the top stair and leaned around to sneak a look through the doorway.

He hated to look, but he had to.

"Katey." He whispered, daring to pierce the silence.

Tensely he waited for a monster to suddenly rush out of the nothingness and envelope around him with millions of dagger filled arms, but nothing came. Only the dull shine of the sun cascading through the open bedroom window came through the doorway towards him.

In spite of its warmth, he felt very cold, yet onward he stepped inside. Warily, he swept his gun around the room and found nothing unusual. The wardrobe was empty and the room clear.

Yet, he could see the faint droplets of blood that snaked along the floor, across the bed and disappeared towards the window.

Looking out into the day through the threshold, he could see a bloodied black handprint on the window's frame and the tiles on the roof beyond cracked and broken in several places.

He looked out as the both disappointing and relieving realisation sank in.

She had escaped.

Fuck.

Where would she go?

Where did she know?

Inverloch, he reasoned and quickly ran back down to his car and disappeared down the road to check.

oooo00oooo

Two sharp cracks of pistol fire rang through the still air, signaling the death of two ragged undead men that tumbled down into the asphalt with a whispered sigh. The stagnant traces of air in their rotting lungs expelled violently as they hit the ground heavily, cracking their ribs and crushing their lungs as Helen lowered her smoking gun.

"He's not here." She said with annoyed finality.

"Yeah, I think so too." Greg agreed, scanning his surroundings in case any more stray zombies decided to take their chances.

"This is fucking bullshit. Where is he?" she whined angrily, her voice rising as her temper started to slip.

Greg was about to try and calm her down when a faint burp echoed down somewhere in the distance. Helen trained her ears and looked to Greg who at first frowned in confusion before he recognised the noise.

"Car." He said simply.

"It might be him." She said, the hope clear in her strained voice.

"Let's hide. You never know." Greg countered.

Helen, at first annoyed by his pragmatism dulling her moment of hopeful elation, gave in and nodded and they both retreated down an alley way, hiding in the shadows.

Sitting tense in the dirt, the source of the noise was quick to approach, growing louder and clearer with every second until it came into view.

Helen jumped out of the hiding place with a squeal when she recognised both the car and the driver.

It was indeed Craig.

The moment of relief passed quickly when she saw the look of complete surprise and disbelief on his face. Her open arms, intended to welcome him, instead seemed to repulse him and he swerved to avoid crashing into a power pole. However, he managed to pull himself out his disbelief and brought the car to a standstill.

Before he got a chance to properly collect his thoughts and think of how to explain things to her, she was already at his window, shouting through the gap and reaching inside for him.

"What the fuck's wrong with you? What's the fuck is fucking going on!?" she shrieked.

Craig flinched away from the onslaught, rolling out of his seat and climbing across the cabin to exit through the other door. Clumsily, he tumbled out into the open, but Helen was on him in an instant, tackling him to the ground.

"What the fuck?! You goddamn tell me!" she shouted, uncaring of the prospect that she might attract a wayward and hungry zombie from out of some unseen shadows, but she didn't care.

At first weltering under the shouting and flurry of slapping hands, Craig quickly grew angry at the intrusive attack and shoved her away, sending her tumbling back onto the ground where she sat in stunned silence.

The anger that boiled underneath his skin suddenly melted away and disappeared when he saw the tears that stained her face and caused her hair to cling to her cheeks. His arms shot forward, open with apology and wrapped around her in a hug.

"I'm sorry." He whispered over and over again between her sobs as she grabbed him back, clutching tightly to him like a lost child having been reunited with her father.

"What's going on?" she managed to blurt out and was met with Craig's intense eyes, burning with a seriousness and concern she had not seen before.

"I had to check on something. Let's go home. I'll tell you." He said slowly and pulled her up.

Her arm draped over Craig's shoulder like an injured sportsman being dragged from the field, Craig led her to his car and bundled her inside. She withdrew into her car seat, suddenly feeling infinitely tired as the relief that her lover was alright pulled her down into a light sleep. She just felt so tired and was barely aware of Craig's car door slamming shut as they took off back home with Greg following in behind.

None of them were aware of the pair of eyes that watched them leave, fingers like knives rubbing against each other as the taste of revenge teased it, causing it to salivate.

"Craaaag." It whispered and stormed out from the shadows, tearing down through the fields after its prey. It could smell the acrid car exhaust fumes with ease, but it was the scent of sweat and flesh that shone through the empty air like a shaft of light through a heavy darkness and pulled it onward after its quarry.

"Craaaaag." It growled as it continued on, keeping distant so as not to be seen.

It would find him.

He would not escape.

**Author's Note: Sorry if it's a little rushed. I wrote it very quickly. Someone was eager for an update and I though it was about time there was one. I mustn't neglect my readers! - Hoobajoo**


	42. Demon's Day

Dead Opportunities: Book 2

**Dead Opportunities: Book 2**

**A New World Rises**

**Chapter 16: Demon's Day**

The landscape seemed to waft by in a blur. It was as though a heavy cloud of cotton wool and Vaseline had blanketed her surroundings, enveloping everything in a fog.

"You ready?" Craig asked uncertainly.

"No, but tell me anyway." Helen said coldly. Despite her misgivings and fears, she had to know even if she felt she might vomit. She felt queasy.

"I think I'm a carrier for a mutant virus of some sort."

"What?" The explanation seemed so ridiculous.

Craig tried to plan his words. He had a lot to explain and he had to try and keep Helen from freaking out. "I think I carry a virus of some sort that turns people into monsters after they die. It turned Billy and it's turned someone I had contact with before I met you."

"What? Contact? Someone? What? I don't get it." Helen replied in a daze.

Craig sighed. He wasn't sure whether her groggy incomprehension and detachment was a good thing or not. She wasn't freaking out at least. "Remember I bit out Billy's throat? It turned him later into a monster after he died. That's what transformed him into that thing." He closed his eyes and winced privately at the coming confession. "But there was a girl I was involved with before I met you. She died after her and I…."

Suddenly Helen felt a distinct rush of anger surging up her throat. "You fucked her?"

"Well….. yes."

Helen felt she wanted to pummel her lover's face, but a niggling feeling quelled her fury, replacing it with an annoyed curiosity. "There's more to this story isn't there?"

Craig now wished she was instead an angry tornado, slapping him and barreling into him with accusations and profanities. Instead, he knew he had to tell her the gut wrenching truth he hoped to keep hidden from her. With a deep breath to steady his nerves, he delved into his guilt and told the story as honestly as he could. "Let me start at the beginning. I warned you ages ago that I've done some bad things. This is one of them."

Helen listened with arms securely folded across her chest. With frustrated impatience, she forced herself to listen quietly, which she did as he started from where he had originally Katey. He told her of how he met her family and had calculatingly won their trust. He told her of how he had murdered her family in cold blood and raped her repeatedly, keeping her in captivity as his sexual plaything. Finally, he recounted how she had defied in him in her suicide. Before long, she found her anger had completely subsided, replaced by shock and that urge to vomit she hoped she would not feel.

"How could you do that?" she barked, suddenly afraid of the man that sat in the driver's seat right next to her. She scooted down her seat, leaning away from him against the door, eager to put as much space between herself and Craig as she could.

"I told you I done some bad things. I'm being honest here."

It wasn't until the of the sudden roar of the wind gushing through the cabin that she was aware that she had opened the door of the car, even as it cruised down the highway. The cool of the air was soothing and welcoming compared to the stifling heat inside.

"Let me out. Stop the car." She both pleaded and ordered.

"Helen, wait."

"Let me out, now please!"

"No, Helen, close the door. Don't do this."

Too late he reached over to pull her back in, but Helen felt the acid rushing up her throat and explode out through the open door. Her fear and revulsion tightened her stomach into an aching knot that seemed to squeeze the vomit out like a popped pimple. Straining through tears and choking gasps, her stomach's contents sprayed out into the air, painting the side of the car.

Even through the midst of the ordeal, she pleaded, "Let me out."

Shocked at her reaction, he dumbly eased down on the brakes with his hand still wrapped tightly around her arm as she slumped in his grip. Even though she had her seat belt on, he gripped her as though she might fall out through the open door and tumble out onto the rapidly passing asphalt.

Finally, the car slowed to a crawl and stopped. Helen stumbled out, somehow loosening her seat belt and disappeared outside from view. Craig, at first stunned and hesitant to even attempt to reason with her in her current state eventually decided to try anyway and cautiously stepped out into the sun.

Helen walked heavily away from the car out into the grassland of a roadside wheat paddock. Collapsing against the downtrodden wooden fence that bordered the thick field, she panicked as she saw Craig emerge around the back of the car and heading towards her slowly. Instantly, waves of fear washed over her. The hot sting of the bile that clung to her throat threatened to squeeze and twist her body with retching pain and choke the life out of her. Slowly he stepped towards her with the sun behind him, casting a deathly shadow over his hunched form as though he was a hungry demon descending towards a wounded animal.

Fumbling through her pockets, she felt the reassuring hilt of the pistol she always kept on her. The gun that he had given her. Like a striking snake, she pulled the gun out and brandished it before her, aiming it at his darkened and unseen face.

The shadow hid his torn surprise from her. She could not see the desperation and fear in his eyes, more intense than her own.

"Helen, please."

"Stay the fuck away from me!" Down through the pistol's sights, the blur of the black demon halted its advance.

"Helen, don't do this. It's me, remember?"

"Shut up!"

"I'm the nice man."

The words cut through the dark blur and panic that gripped her, replacing it with the memory of when they had first met. The open hands and warm smile of the man she loved pierced through her fears and the gun wavered in her weak hand.

"But.." she stuttered.

"I'm not that man anymore. I left it behind me, but now it's come back and I don't want it to hurt you."

Slowly he stepped forward, blocking out the sting of the sun until she could see his features. The cold fear was quickly replaced by an overwhelming urge to hug him as his arms seemed to read her mind and wrapped around her with loving warmth.

"Helen, I love you. You know that right?" Her cries that welled in his neck was the answer he was hoping for, combined with the fierce grip of her arms pulling him into her. "I won't let…"

His words and Helen's sobbing cries were interrupted with a shrill cry that pierced the air like scissors cutting through paper.

Slowly, they both turned towards the source of the inhuman scream and saw a figure standing in the wheat field behind them. It was a young girl, her naked form rising out from the blanket of golden wheat. She did not seem to stand, rather swaying with the wind as it carried her blonde hair around her as though it was floating in water. The serenity of her pale face and her thin figure glowed in the sunshine that had cast a deathly shadow over Craig.

Helen gasped at the beautiful sight, but Craig broke out in a cold sweat as he recognised her.

"Craaaaaag." It whispered with an unnatural volume as though it had shouted in his ear.

He felt the butt of the pistol Helen still clung to dig into his back and he wrenched around to grab it. Pulling it from Helen's confused fingers, he raised it towards the girl and fired without hesitation.

The gunfire cut through the quiet air, stealing Helen's hearing away and replacing it with a sharp whine as she felt Craig pull her towards him back towards the car with a forceful tug. She could not hear him screaming and shouting for her to hurry.

Craig's shots were wild and rushed and missed the target. The girl's calm visage creased, revealing black eyes like a shark and brown jagged teeth that interrupted her pale skin like blood from a wound. Instantly she disappeared down into the wheat and out of sight with unnatural speed.

Craig panicked. Looking back over his shoulder he could see tattered strands of the crop fly into the air as the unseen monster tore towards them. It was closing fast as he tried to pull Helen towards their means of escape, but she was limp and heavy in his hands and the way ahead was uphill and slippery.

Finally, he reached up and grasped the handle of the open door of the 4WD and pulled Helen up towards it with all of the strength he had. Helen moaned incomprehensively and stumbled as though hopelessly drunk as Craig heard the piercing howl of the monster behind him.

Looking over his shoulder again, his vision was consumed by the menacing and angry scowl of the monster as it leaped into the air towards him like a hawk with talons bared. Her eyes were lakes of obsidian that threatened to drown him and her arms were bared and poised above her head, long fingers like swords stabbed through her hair that sailed in the breeze, blocking out the light and any hope of escape.

He knew it now. He fumbled for the pistol still clung awkwardly in his hands, unsure of whether any bullets were left, but he knew it would do no good.

This monster stared down with a hatred and recognition that made the small turd parked in his rectum feel as heavy as the car he was trying to shove Helen into. All he could do was hope he could get her inside before he was skewered and torn apart by the ravenous animal, but he doubted he could get that far.

It was too late.

He closed his eyes as the flying wraith descended.

The shrill and victorious scream that escaped from Katey's blood thirsty lips was cut short by the roar of a truck engine and the heavy thump of its suspension crashing down on the uneven ground.

Opening his eyes in confusion, he saw Greg's truck barreling through the fence and through the wheat field clumsily, yet quickly. Bucking wildly, mud and shreds of wheat flew into the air and Craig did not hesitate to use the reprieve his friend had bought him. Katey was nowhere to be seen, having been knocked down and sucked under the truck's carriage.

Quickly, he hefted Helen's limp form up and into the passenger seat and slammed the door closed to keep her from tumbling out again. Running around the bonnet of the car, he stole a glimpse towards Greg's bouncing truck and saw the unmistakable outline of a human figure climbing up the side of the truck and long the roofline towards the cab. It moved with inhuman speed and strength, slithering along the truck's outline like a lizard.

Even before he climbed inside the car and heard Greg's voice shouting over the radio mounted on the dash board, he knew his friend was dead.

"Craig!! Craig! Get out of here!" he heard him shout through the garbled static.

Jumping inside and turning the key, he was somewhat heartened to hear a gunshot ring through the insulated cabin and stole another look in the hope Greg had luckily managed to blow the monster's head off.

"Jesus Chr-" He heard Greg scream over the radio, his panicked voice cut short and replaced by a dirty scream, muffled by the radio's worsening static. Looking out towards the truck as he shoved the accelerator into the floor, his heart sank to see the truck lose control and jerk to the left, tumbling over and rolling as Katey leapt from the wreckage and disappeared again into the carpet of wheat.

His friend was dead.

Both saddened and angry, he forced himself to focus on the road before him as the 4WD gulped down the horizon, gaining speed rapidly and leaving the scene behind them.

Checking again in his rear view mirror, he saw Katey's calm and solitary figure in the middle of the road looking back towards him. Katey growled and Craig held back tears and curses as they watched each other disappear into the horizon.

**Sorry, another rushed chapter. Been busy lately, just found out not long ago , my wife is pregnant again. I'm having another little one! I think it's going to be another girl. I'll try and keep things moving all the same.**

**Cheers,**

**Hoobajoo**


	43. New Players

Dead Opportunities: Book 2

**Dead Opportunities: Book 2**

**A New World Rises**

**Chapter 17: New players**

He wasn't sure whether his mind was playing tricks on him or not, but it seemed every second time he looked in his rear view mirror, he saw fleeting glimpses of the monster. But he swore it was not possible. He had been tearing down the highways for two hours now at over 140 kmph.

Surely that bitch monster was far behind him.

He had been taking the long way back to Phillip Island. He worried that it might follow him and find their sanctuary, but he had to get back. They were almost there.

Helen had been unconscious in the seat next to him for a long time now, but seemed to stir. He had tried to rouse her many times before, but it had done no good. She had a steady pulse and was breathing clearly, but he felt no better. Especially when he noticed the trail of blood that had seeped down her face and clotted into her hair.

It came from her ear.

He remembered how he had drawn his gun back there and let fly with a volley of gunfire towards the monster and only now remembered how close her face was to the gun. She had stumbled and fallen slack in his hands when he had tried to get her into the car. The shot must have stunned her.

He hoped she was not now deaf or even brain damaged.

The fretful fidgeting with the radio and the tight white knuckled grip on the steering wheel betrayed his fear and intensified as she slowly opened her eyes.

"Helen? Baby? You OK?"

Slowly her hands found their way to her head, shaking and moving numbly as though the effort required was extremely taxing. Her face, half hidden from the strands of hair that cascaded down her face could however hide the obviously discomfort she felt. Her previously serenity was replaced by a painful wince.

"Muh hud huzz."

"Baby, are you OK?"

Her babbling attempts at words soon denigrated into sobs as she cried into the heels of her hands. Although mindful of the requirement to watch the road, he nevertheless tried to comfort her as best he could, running his fingers through her hair.

"Wuz gun un?" She sobbed.

"Baby, we're on the road." He said, trying to keep everything together. He couldn't cry in front of her. He had to maintain his composure.

"Wuh?" she turned and looked to him, her eyes bloodshot and aching through her fingers.

"We're on the road, we're getting out of here."

"Wuh? Cun huh."

"We're almost home, baby."

The strength seemed to leech out of her body like water flour through a sieve. She fell slack into the seat again and passed out in spite of Craig's worried cries. No matter how much he massaged her scalp with his shaking hands and how loudly he tried to coax her awake again, her comatose form was dead to him.

Through welling eyes he saw the familiar sight of the Island's front gate, but it shone an unexpected green blur. Hurriedly, he tried to wipe the encroaching tears away and froze to see men in army fatigues manning the gate sporting large machine guns. They stiffened and waved to him, guns bearing across their chests, neutral, but ready nonetheless.

No sooner than he reached the gate and proceeded through, the 4WD was swarmed with the men, forcing their way in and shouting. The din was so loud and garbled, he couldn't make out what they were saying, but he had enough presence of mind to look for Helen and see only the tips of her hair disappear from the doorway.

They took her.

Instinctively, he reached for the MP5 stashed in the centre console whilst trying to keep the determined hands at bay. He felt the cool outline of the trigger housing tease his rage before something thumped into the side of his head and knocked him out.

Xxxxx

"….. think….never….-fore."

"What…. hope….. true."

"Shit…….. –ucker."

"Ba-…off!"

"Seda-…er."

Slowly the world seemed to come back, as though a television's volume knob was carefully being turned up. However, his eyes had some catching up to do. Great shards of blurred white light amplified his head ache every time he tried to see.

His saliva was thick, sticking to his teeth.

He could taste a faint sensation of plastic.

"Hello, Craig."

The voice was deep. Like a man speaking with gravel in place of vocal chords. It oozed an authoritative condescendence, as though he was a spiteful teacher speaking to a child.

"How are you feeling?"

"Wuh Hun?"

"What's that?"

"Wuz Hun?"

"Helen? Is that her name? She's fine."

"Wuh ishee?"

"Safe."

"Wuz gun un?"

"You are now the property of the Australian government. You are in a secret Military base."

"Wuh da fug?"

"Yes, I imagine you are having a little trouble. Those brutish soldiers hit your head pretty hard."

"Hoo uh yoo?"

"Your owner."

"Fug yoo."

"Now, now Craig."

Craig winced as a sharp stab of pain arced up his arm, quickly replaced by a rush that coursed throughout his body like a warm bath. His vision seemed to focus, allowing the white shards of light to retreat and reveal the form of a man in green looming over him.

It was only now he realized he was lying down and staring up at him.

"There. Feel better?"

"Go fug yor mum."

"Are you always like this?"

"Unlee towuds dighedz."

"I see."

More quickly now his locale became apparent. It was a medical room of some sort. Various apparatus and instruments he didn't recognise were all around him and he was shackled down on a steel table naked.

He saw other tables like his around him with sheets laid over what he presumed were bodies underneath and steel drawers he recognised as those that store cadavers in a morgue lining the far wall. The harsh light above him was an examination light like one from a dentist's room.

He could hear his heartbeat beeping away on a monitor beside him. He could hear it quicken as he tried to lean up and address the man.

"You tell me what's going on and who you are. Now."

The man, dressed in a doctor's garb stared back with cold blue eyes, his face hidden behind a surgical mask. Craig's sudden clarity of language seemed to stun him for a moment before he shook it away.

"Alright. My name is Dr Polanda. I am a scientist researching the zombie virus. We heard you have a mutated strain of the virus."

"Who told you that?"

"I did."

The voice stung the cold air, slightly garbled through was sounded like a speaker. Despite the poor quality, Craig recognised it immediately.

"Harry! Fucker!" Craig strained against his bonds as his veins lit up with rage.

Whatever attempts Polanda made to try and calm him down and whatever Harry said through the speaker, Craig couldn't hear it. The obscenities and threats he shouted filled the echo-less room. Through the cacophony, he did not feel the sting of the needle piercing his arm and sending him floating down into a drug induced sleep.

Xxxxx

The air was stale with sweat and metal. Every breath just seemed to further sap the energy from her, as though she was running a race, yet she was curled up into a ball on the concrete floor of her bare cell.

It was very much a locale she was not used to, but wondered whether Craig would feel right at home or rage against the bars like a rabid monkey were he in the same situation. For all she knew, he was. They had been separated and the robotic guard that strolled up and down the hallway by her ignored her pleas and insults as though she was both invisible and mute.

She had kicked the bars and tried to shake them open, and shouted until her throat felt the air was like barbed wire shredding her vocal chords and still she screamed. Finally, however, her body and her willpower gave out and she retreated to the floor.

Despite her exhaustion, her mind was firing. Where was Craig? What are they doing to him? What are they going to do with me?

As if to answer her private question, the sound of a heavy door opening and closing down the hallway caused her to raise her head. Heavy footsteps thudded towards her, cracking down as though each step squashed some hard shelled beetle.

Finally, the offending figure revealed himself and Helen gasped with both anger and fear.

"Hello, my pretty."

"YOU?!"

"Yes, me." He smiled drily.

"You sold us out to the army, didn't you?"

"Yup."

"Bastard." She spat, suddenly finding herself on her feet.

"You wanna know where your boyfriend is?"

Helen tried to maintain her angry façade, but it cracked ever so slightly.

Harry just brushed it off, "Well, too bad. I won't tell you."

_Don't let him see you cry. Keep it together._ Her fingernails dug into her palms and her knuckles lost all traces of their normal fleshy pink as she struggled to both contain her anger and sadness.

"Before this is over Harry…" He looked down at his fingernails, pretending to clean them as she growled. "I'm gonna fucking kill you."

He blew on them casually and looked back up at her without the merest hint of care. "That may be the case. But I will fucking fuck you first. My pay off for selling you guys out."

"You wish."

"But from what I hear, I'll need a condom. I hear you got some bastard of a virus."

The insult burned an idea in her brain and she clutched onto it, catapulting herself towards the bars. Harry retreated only mildly, thinking she would vainly try to reach for him, but recoiled as she spat a wad of saliva into his face.

The thick liquid clung to his skin and stung his eyes, having snuck their way between his eyelids before he had a chance to recoil.

"What the fuck?"

Now it was Helen's turn to smile as she casually backed away from the bars. "I have one bastard of a virus. Now you do too."

"Oh fuck…… You fucking bitch! I'll fucking kill you!" he screamed and thrashed through the bars, but Helen had already backed far enough away. As he screamed and writhed, she toyed with him like a master with a chained dog. She enjoyed the revenge whilst she could.

Finally, Harry calmed, but only enough so that he spoke clearly. "Like I said, bitch. You might kill me, but I'll have you first." And he stormed away down the hall and disappeared before she had a chance to reply.

She was glad to feel a smile loiter on her lips as she sat back down on the cold floor.

Xxxxxx

The air was deathly cold and small droplets of rain were beginning to tap down on the roof above him, signaling the coming downpour.

The memories were difficult to gather, and thoughts rushed around through his mind like crazed moths dancing around a bright light. He felt the pain course through his body, stiff from the trials of the past few days, but it was nothing he could remember.

Nothing was coherent.

It was slipping.

A shadow loomed over him. Somehow it spoke without moving.

"We must escape."

"How? What is going on? Where am I?" he said, his voice was harsh and it was painful.

The figure towering over him seemed to feel it too and bent down to lay a gentle hand on his shoulder. "The pain goes away. The red will wash it away."

"What is the red?"

"The red. The blood. Do you feel it?"

He reached inside himself, probing his thoughts to find some semblance of emotion and felt it. It was difficult to find, but he knew it was there. Like a calm river that hid a deathly undercurrent, waiting for someone to dive in and be swept away.

The instinct.

The rage.

"Come." The figure gestured and tore away the door of his confines as though it was made of paper. With a casual swat, the torn steel was flung into the night and lodged into the dirt like a spear.

"Where?"

"To where he is."

"Who?"

The figure guided him out into the rain, which punched down heavier by the second as the storm overhead spewed great tendrils of lightning across the dead black clouds. The figure before him was lit in the flashing instant, her long golden hair still obscuring much of her. But it was enough to see she was a young girl.

Or was.

She turned and regarded him as his heavy feet sank into the mud. She spoke with a growl that sent a shiver up his spine. He enjoyed the sensation.

"Craaaag."

He could not hold back the smile that creased his broken lips. Following the alluring figure before him as she swept through the wheat field, he chased after her and left the broken truck behind.

**Author's note: Formal apologies for the long absence. I have been exceedingly busy. I have also been toying with new ideas for completely unrelated new stories (both fantasy and crime thrillers).**

**Also I find it difficult to write after I come home from work, because my little one year old seems to prefer that Daddy puts her to sleep, especially when she wakes up. I will try nonetheless.**

**Sorry if this is a little rushed, but I didn't have much time to get it down. Only about an hour.**

**Kind regards,**

**Hoobajoo**


	44. Shit, meet fan

Dead Opportunities: Book 2

**Dead Opportunities: Book 2**

**A New World Rises**

**Chapter 18: Shit, meet fan.**

The needle stung for only a moment before it retreated back silently into the confines of its casing and the careful hands of the attending nurse. Quickly it disappeared from view and was replaced by another syringe repeating the process with an efficiency and precision akin to a robot on a production line. They took three separate blood samples and Craig accepted the pain without complaint.

There was no point resisting. Dr Polanda was nowhere to be seen and he was the one in control it seemed. He was the target of any possible retaliation, not his mere servants who were just doing what they were told.

The one benefit of being strapped down on the table, was that it gave him time to think. Forced him to, more appropriately. He had nothing else to do. Any attempts at conversation were met with stony indifference. He supposed he was not human to these people. They were scientists dealing with a specimen. Much like a rat or a dog.

The only pleasure he did derive from the cold precision of the team around him was the curious tasks they performed in addition to the several blood samples. Having laid naked on the table all this time and having grown relatively comfortable with having so many people around him and watching him, he was at first uncaring as a latex covered hand lay gently on his thigh. However, it slowly worked its way up towards a thoroughly vulnerable area.

Craig had not been paying attention to his surroundings and chose not to see who the mystery person was. Slowly the hand surprisingly tickled his scrotum gently and the obviousness of the 'examination' came to light.

He has being felt up.

Surprisingly, instead of trying to recoil from the strangely removed touch, he welcomed it and felt his manhood stiffen and rise with quick pulses. Although he had been thinking of Helen throughout the whole day, wondering what was being done to her and how he might fancy to rescue her, he brought forward her image and fantasised that it was her hand working on him, so to speak.

Reciprocating, the mystery hand became more forceful, having finished toying with the soft of his scrotum and wrapped slowly around his shaft, deftly beginning to masturbate him.

It felt pleasurable in a purely physical way, however he couldn't shake an icy feeling that stabbed through his daydreaming that it was not right. The image of Helen he had brought forth was fading, replaced by an uncomfortable vulnerability and fear.

Annoyed by the denial, he turned to see his pleasure giver and immediately shrieked in surprise.

Although the figure was covered almost head to toe on green surgical garb, the shape of the person's body was unmistakably not what he was expecting.

A man. Not a woman.

He had simply assumed that whoever this mystery person was must be a woman and the shock was too much. Immediately, he pulled against his bonds and screamed at the top of his lungs.

"You fucking faggot! Get the fuck out of here! OUT!"

The unidentified man flinched and withdrew from the room like a startled child. In an instant, he was gone and Craig was left alone in the small theatre continuing to shout at the closed door as his erection drooped back down again.

From that point forward, whenever a nurse entered the room, he would continue to shout at the top of his lungs and resist as much as possible.

Xxxx

"C'mon, you serious?"

"Sure am, ma'am."

"No way!"

Helen seemed to finally have captured the man's attention. As far as she could tell, she was alone amongst the cell's that lined the hallway. They each seemed empty given she could get no reply from them.

The only break in the monotony was the endless and robotic pacing up and down of the guard, dressing in typical green camouflage fatigues with a machine gun slung over his shoulder. As far as she could see, he was the only weakness she could find to exploit.

He had the keys for her cell looped around his belt.

At first she tried to simply get his attention, but he ignored her with trained detachment and would not make eye contact. That was until she started crying with as much flair and damsel-in-distress-like fashion as she could muster.

Finally, the young man relented and asked if she wanted some water. Accepting the offer like a beggar accepting water from Jesus himself, she thanked him mercilessly.

If she was to break his discipline, he had to keep talking to him and get him to engage. She did exactly that, at first asking him question after question about himself until she found paydirt.

He came from a town she lived at for a time. Common points of interest were reached, ranging from the morbid obesity of the local cinema manager, the typical gangs that roamed the streets and the best places to eat.

Eventually, he revealed where he lived exactly and she feigned that she lived only four houses down around the corner where he had never explored.

All this had been accomplished without ever asking the young army private's name. Now was the appropriate time to ask of it, with his guard sufficiently dropped.

"Paul Benson."

It was a point at which Helen decided to change her tactics and take the conversation into a more engaging direction. She slackened her posture and toyed with her hair.

"You know, I think I remember you. I used to think you were quite hot…." She said as sultrily as she could, without pouring it on too much.

Private Benson appeared taken aback by the comment and Helen feared he might back away. She feigned embarrassment and covered her mouth between giggles.

"Well… uh, I never saw you…" he stammered.

"Oh, I was afraid to ever approach. I'm shy."

"Oh…"

"But I have to say, you've grown up even more since then. You are fine looking young man." She bit her lip and quickened her breathing, trying to appear like an animal on heat.

Although Benson appeared slightly uneasy by the veiled pass, he did not recoil. "Why thank you, ma'am."

"Please, call me Helen." She had him locked with her widest smile. From her guard's incessant patrolling, she heard him use a vending machine down the way. It was unseen, but she knew it was there. "Hey, I'm really hungry. Can you get me something. Just something small?"

"Well, I've only got a couple of dollars left."

"I tell you what, I'll trade you." She stepped back slightly and unzipped her top down slightly to reveal the top of her cleavage. "I'll let you touch them if you get me something." She purred.

Helen was expecting to have to sell it a little more, having anticipated initial apprehension, but he appeared eager. She supposed he was a young man trapped in a doomsday situation and surrounded by military regimen and discipline. He had probably not seen a woman, let alone one undressing, for a long time.

"Wait here…" he breathed and disappeared with a quick step. Helen preoccupied herself with her hair, trying to position it as alluringly as possible and practiced licking her lips. She heard the faint thud down the hall, smiling as she recognised the sound of a chocolate bar of some sort dropping down the chute to wait for the horny private's hands to clasp around it. In an inhumanly short expanse of time, he was back, brandishing the wrapped Snickers bar before her. He held it out in his hand as though it was worth much more than the 1.70 he paid for it.

"Oh thank you." Helen purred and stepped forward towards his outstretched hands. Swiftly she took up the chocolate bar, and pressed up against him as best she could. She smiled wider as she examined his eyes staring down like spotlights to her chest as he fondled her. He was entranced.

"You like that baby?" she purred.

"Goddamn." He breathed.

"Here, let me help you." She unzipped her top further and pulled his T-shirt down to show her bra. As she hoped, he greedily squeezed her breasts and began to free them from beneath the fabric. He was very preoccupied with her exposed nipples as she slipped one hand down to his crotch and rubbed his erection.

"Fuck…." He breathed again.

Helen had ample time in the time preceding to see the combat knife that was slung on his belt. It was buttoned down with a single small leather strap. With one hand busy stroking his bulge, she wrapped her fingers around the hilt. She moaned to cover the pop of the press stud releasing and she yanked the knife free.

Without hesitation, she brought it to bear into his stomach below his concealed chest plating, stabbing repeatedly without mercy. The young man's breath failed him as he tried in inhale and scream, but Helen made sure no sound would escape as she shoved the knife into him again through his throat.

As he choked and gurgled, he seemed only to comprehend what had happened as he slumped to the floor. Even in death as his skin turned pale, his eyes were fixed open and upward towards her still exposed breasts.

In a past life she would most certainly have reeled at the task and vomited on the floor with revulsion. She would have grappled with the idea that she had killed not a man, but a young boy, perhaps much like her own son Leroy. The poor kid was probably a virgin. But now she simply viewed what she had done as a means to an end.

Escape and rescue.

Reaching through the bars, she rolled the dead man over and unhooked the key ring from his belt. Thankfully, she had managed to avoid any blood spray as she replaced her clothes back on herself and opened the cell door.

Kneeling down, she scooped up the dead soldier's weapons, hoisting the machine gun up in front of her in a clumsy strained grip and crept down the hallway.

Xxxxxx

The journey had been hard and taxing, but had managed to yield a surprising find. Although They were determined to follow the highway and the trademark stench in the air, They were forced to deviate when hunger beckoned and a fresh scent became apparent.

After a quick investigation, a small family it seemed were barricaded inside their home surrounded by zombies. There must have been hundreds, but it mattered not. They simply vaulted over the barricade walls and rushed the oblivious warm bodies within.

It was His first taste and He was happy, for it was just as She had said it would be.

It was delicious and satisfying, especially to hear them scream. They made sure to cripple one of them, listening to the little human's pained and horrified screams much like soothing background music. However, it was short lived. The little human's broken legs seemed too much for it and it passed out into a fitful sleep.

For the both of them, it was unnecessary to kill it. Both satisfied with the meal and rested well enough to continue on the journey. They left in the same was They entered, jumping the walls and evading the stupid zombie crowd having already forgotten about the little human and its butchered comrades.

It did not matter.

With all speed, Their journey continued on with apace. The scent in the cool air pulled Them onward. The scent was thicker now. Closer.

They ran faster.

Xxxxx

It was intensely frustrating carrying such equipment. Although she was loathe to leave it behind, it was simply too heavy and making too much noise. Her main weapon was not the gun anyway, more the element of surprise and stealth. The machine gun either made her arms tired or clattered against her if she slung it over her shoulder.

So she ditched it and continued on.

Much like Craig, she favoured the knife more than the pistol she still kept with her. The few guards that she did encounter were oblivious each time to her presence right up until she sank the knife in and guided them down to the floor.

She had expected a much more organised and numerous presence, however it seemed that much like everyone and everywhere else, survivors were difficult to come by and had to make do with what was available. Indeed, when she snuck passed the mess hall door and quickly peeked through the small window, she had expected to see row upon row of soldiers huddled around the tables. The hallway had over 20 tables that could seat more than 20 each, yet only one or two was full.

Never had Helen thought of herself a killer, and the realisation that she was now doing so in cold blood was not quite what she had expected. No rush of the kill, no empathy or disgust.

It was simply a task of getting to Craig and either avoiding or disposing of all threats that got in her way. Nevertheless, despite her building body count, she was always intensely aware of her vulnerability. In all cases, her kills, which totalled six so far, were from behind using surprise. They were stealthy and cowardly.

All it would take was a single soldier to discover her in the open and she would be cut down in a hail of gunfire against which her pistol and knife would be no match. Besides, they had training and she had none. She was honestly surprised she had gotten this far given she was imitating the sorts of things she supposed Craig would do, and even then he was also untrained.

Either it was a compliment on her own abilities or a stinging reflection on the incompetence and complacency of her enemy. She decided it was the latter. After all, the army had spectacularly failed to prevent the zombie outbreak in the first place. Perhaps, they deliberately withdrew from the conflict and didn't even try.

It was a question for another time, she decided as she rounded a corner and dropped to the floor.

Alarms blared all around her and klaxons on the ceiling lit up to bathe the stale concrete corridor in a red flickering glow. Suddenly the radio that Helen had stolen from Benson erupted to life.

"Code Red! We're under attack!"

**Apologies for the long time between updates. I have been intensely busy and also doing lots of reading. I have been doing research and reading different novels to improve my writing quality in anticipation of an unrelated fantasy novel I have started. Although Dead Opportunities has been a great hobby and practice, I intend to step things up and take writing quite seriously.**

**We will see.**

**Although Dead Opportunities will come second to this new project, I very much still intend to finish it and write a third Book to round out the trilogy. I doubt very much that this will ever be published in some way, but who cares? It's been great fun and still is.**

**As always, reviews and comments and very welcome.**

**Regards,**

**Hoobajoo**


	45. Closing in

Dead Opportunities: Book 2

**Dead Opportunities: Book 2**

**A New World Rises**

**Chapter 19: Closing in**

It had been a slow shift, utterly boring. Up and down he walked with his machine gun cradled in his numbed arms like an unwanted child. Three more hours and then he would be up for a bathroom break.

The perimeter patrol duty was never a highlight of the day, but he managed to find a silver lining. He had been paired with an older private who loved to talk. His ramblings were like a lulling music of sorts as he prattled on like his own grandfather used to do _(bless his soul)._ His name was Peter Hauser and he had been in the military service for over 12 years. According to his own version of events, he was a stellar performer brought down by a vindictive squad leader who wanted to have anal sex with him, but Peter refused.

Peter had alerted his superiors, those above both of them, of the improper conduct, but Peter was unaware all too late that the squad leader was the son of one of the superiors he complained to and he was summarily ostracized for his actions. Peter was due to be a squad leader himself after 8 years of dedicated service, but was demoted back down to private and the subject of debilitating bullying thereafter. Numerous army psychologists branded him mentally unstable and unfit for service, dependable referees had recanted their previously flattering feedback. Vicious rumours had been circulated effectively placing him in the wrong as the 'poofter'.

After enduring the torrent of both overt and subtle abuse, he managed to get a transfer to another barracks and start again.

Hence, he was here now and proudly stated to the young private listening absently to him that he had proudly avoided having a dick up his arse.

Strangely, listening to the older private talking about sex turned the younger private's thoughts inward toward a more primal subject, fantasizing about naked women that he would like to save from the undead horde, much to their gratefulness.

He had resolved then as Peter finished his story, that when his bathroom break came up, he would jerk off before dinner.

His attention was brought back to the real world when Peter tapped him on the shoulder and pointed out into the horizon.

"Wassat?" he queried, cupping a hand over his brow to shield his eyes from the sun.

"Probably nuthin'" the young private mumbled and began to step away back into the drudging routine of the patrol.

Peter smiled and rested his hands on the slung machine gun in front of him. "Hey boy. Looks like more of them stenches."

The young private slowed and turned to confirm his companion's observation. The landscape before them both, viewed through a series of chain link fences lined with barbed wire, was barren and blurred by the heat.

They were in the outback, a military compound in the middle of nowhere, surrounded by scrappy flat desert in all directions. Seemingly unending swathes of red sand were momentarily interrupted by small bushes, gnarled trees and broken red pebbles. In all this time, the landscape had been painfully still. The nearest human civilization was over 40 kilometres away, at least before the zombie plague.

The probability of any zombie happening to find them by way of mindless wandering had been calculated by one of the intelligence crew, but the young private couldn't remember what the odds were other than them being a very large number indeed.

Squinting, he focused his attention towards the horizon where Peter was looking and was surprised to find he was right. Amongst the dancing heat haze in the distance, a distinctive blur bobbed. The young private supposed it was a human figure running.

There was no doubt about it, A zombie.

No one besides a mindless zombie would think to run in this heat.

By the time the young private had looked back at his companion, he had already unfolded the large machine gun and kneeled down. Resting his shoulder on the rifle's stock and adjusting the scope, the older private calmly looked down the sights.

With equal calm, the young private mumbled a short message into his radio informing command of the contact.

The young private set the radio back down and looked out into the distance again and the small blur still seemed to bob in the distance.

"Goddamnit, my scope's dirty. Can't see." The older private complained and stood up.

"Well you should spend more time looking after you shit instead of telling me how proud you are to not have a dick up your arse." The young private joked.

The older soldier was not amused and spat a wad of phlegm on the ground next to him.

The young soldier continued. "You know, they say it's the people that say they aren't gay the loudest that are the ones that are hiding in the closet. You sure you aren't a poof, old man?"

Before the young soldier knew what happened, the world seemed numb and quiet. It wasn't until he blinked several times and brought his hand in front of his face that he realized his face stung and he was lying on the ground. The old soldier had stuck him and was glaring down at him with eyes that seemed to glow red with anger.

"You say shit like that again, I'll fucking stick your own rifle up your arse and we'll see who's a fag." He growled and turned away.

Startled, but strangely accepting, the young private rose slowly back up on his feet, only to see the older soldier's back to him.

Sheepish, the young private offered an apology, "Well, that settles that. You ain't no fudge packer."

The older soldier turned around and smiled at his companion, a sly grin. "Damn right."

They quickly shared a laugh before they both turned back to the horizon to check on their approaching blurry friend. Both of the men froze as they watched the small blur unfold amongst the warbling heat haze to reveal a much larger blob of movement.

The young private quickly peered down his scope and brought the sight to bear. There was no doubt the sight entailed something undead in nature running towards them, but the blur taken in with the naked eye was exposed as a much larger threat down the scope.

With a cool detachment, the young soldier counted over fourteen zombies that he could distinctly make out, running at full pelt towards them. Strangely, it was as if the monsters could see him back through the scope and they seemed to quicken.

The young private was about to take his eyes away when other zombies peeled out from behind the zombies he could see and fourteen became over twenty, then thirty and more by the second. Behind the lead zombies there hid an entire crowd.

Even as the young private lowered his rifle scope away from his eyes, his older companion began to see the threat approaching as the heat haze lifted.

Thirty became forty, then fifty as the rushing crowd came closer and fanned out.

The older private reached for his radio as the younger man gripped his machine gun and prepared to fire.

"Code red. We're under attack!"

As the older private lowered his radio and the younger soldier rested his finger on the trigger, both of them froze. They had both focused their attention on the approaching threat in front of them so completely, they never saw the sweeping blows from their flanks that ran through their exposed necks without sound or friction.

Both of the men seemed stunned by the sudden swipe from the unseen assassin, indeed, neither knew what had happened. Each turned slowly toward the other and their eyes met in a confused gaze, before the older soldier's legs failed him and his head tumbled forward and landed at his feet.

The younger soldier had the presence of mind enough to process the death of his companion and think to raise the alarm, but the world seemed to dissolve into a dark cloud as his own head dropped from his shoulders and thumped down into the dirt.

Xxxxxx

The previously serene and quiet examination room suddenly screamed to life and caused both Craig and the attending nurse to flinch sharply with surprise. The nurse's hands jolted and sent the sterilized tray of medical utensils clattering to the floor.

Craig had tried to be as uncooperative and vulgar towards the young woman as he could, spouting threats that he would rape her with the various utensils and instruments that she arranged on the tables around him and teased her about how small her breasts were.

"Mosquito bites! Mosquito bites! HAHAHAHAH!!" he would sing and laugh maniacally.

At first the nurse did her best to ignore him, but the telltale signs that he was upsetting her materialized as her demeanor stiffened and she rushed to finish her chores and get out.

Now however, she looked to him as though he might know what was happening, but she soon realized her stupidity and rushed for the door to leave.

Before she had a chance, the door opened and a pistol shot sent her neck snapping backwards and painted the wall and floor behind her with a fine spray of dark blood.

Laying still naked and exposed on the strapped table, Craig eyed the open doorway. His mouth suddenly tasted dry and he gulped.

Helen appeared through the doorway and their eyes met, but Craig's elation quickly bled away when she stared at him with uncertain and pleading eyes. He body was stiff and her hands were tightly clenched by her sides. She did not say a word even as Craig's smile faded.

As she stepped forward into the claustrophobic room, a figure followed in behind her with a silenced pistol poked into the small of her back.

"Craig, c'mon. Time to get outta here." The figure said calmly.

Despite the disorienting flashes of light from the klaxons above, Craig had no trouble recognizing the voice's owner. "Harry!"

Harry flashed the gun towards him and Craig fell silent, seeing Helen stare helplessly back at him in his peripheral vision. Surprisingly, Harry relaxed his posture and even lowered his gun. "Look here man. This shit is fucked. We gotta get outta here. I need your help. There's a chopper down the way I can use to get us outta here, but I need the two of you to help me."

Craig's previous confusion and fear was quickly replaced by distrust. "Fuck you."

"Look Craig. I ain't interested in this shit anymore. No more games and no more bullshit. This place is fuckin' under attack and we gotta go. I know this shit's fucked up, but we gotta work together or else we're all dead. Truce?"

Craig was loathe to trust the man. After all, he had attempted to rape his love, had tried to sack Phillip Island and had several times tried to kill him. Whatever doubts and reluctance he had died when he saw Helen staring wordlessly back at him with tears already finding their way down her cheeks. She knew what he was feeling, but she silently pleaded.

With a deep breath, Craig relaxed in his bonds and nodded towards a trolley in the corner. "My clothes. Get me out."

Her teeth shining through her joyous smile, Helen jumped forward and fumbled with his restraints as she kissed him passionately. Craig reveled in the moment, tasting the tears, sweat and relief before he felt cool air on his wrists and his hands were free.

Helen steeped away and fetched his clothes as he unlocked the straps at his feet. Harry warily watched the corridors behind him, stabbing the pistol down each direction as though to ward off some unseen ghost.

Quickly Craig spilled himself into his jeans and they ran down the corridor out of the room, Helen and Craig hand in hand as they followed in behind Harry.

Xxxxx

The rush of the kill was intense. The weak little guards they dispatched at the fence were much like the others. Stupid and inept. He had expected a little more sport from the puny ants that inhabited this concrete maze. Gunfire erupted all around them, but They were too fast.

The stupid humans seemed only to look left and right, never above them as They swept down from the rooftops and sliced them apart before scaling back up the walls to dodge the fire from others.

The air was warm with blood and tinged with the bite of the gunpowder that burnt in the air. Although it was indeed fun, it was but a distraction whilst they honed in on the scent that was unbearably pungent now.

He was here.

So close.

Another puny manling burst forth from a corridor into the open and the swinging doorway seemed to fan out the aroma from within that they sought. With a knowing glance, They rushed toward the concrete tunnel, cutting the hapless soldier in half as they passed.

Grey corridors peeled off in all directions as They ran through, their claws digging into the walls and sending shards on concrete spitting out behind them. The smell was like a guide, glowing red and showing the way through the maze.

Finally, the scent darted to the right and the Two surged into the small room. The stink was everywhere, but it was empty.

He is not here.

Wait.

The scent continues.

Out.

Follow.

**Author's note: Sorry it's been a while and the chapters are a little short... The finale is coming...**


	46. Behind Closed doors

Dead Opportunities: Book 2

**Dead Opportunities: Book 2**

**A New World Rises**

**Chapter 20: Behind closed doors**

His feet were numb and thudded noisily against the smooth concrete floor. He did the best he could keeping his balance as they ran through the claustrophobic corridors of the facility, but Helen stayed by him, helping him back up when he stumbled. The blood in his legs was slowly returning, but he wished he had a chance to stretch his legs before they made their mad dash to freedom.

Freedom.

Craig eyed Harry's stocky figure in front of him, guiding them both through the maze to the helicopter pad. The lights and speakers overhead drowned out whatever he might want to say to him, leaving him and his love stumbling after him, their lives in his hands. A quick look into Helen's eyes showed she was just as uncomfortable with the idea as he was.

_No choice._ He mumbled under his breath and did his best to keep up.

He wondered again whether they could trust Harry. Was his explanation about needing them to help him pilot the helicopter plausible? Craig wondered whether indeed a helicopter existed. Maybe Harry just wanted to kill them both. Lord knows he wanted to. But then why would Harry go through such an ornate charade during such an emergency? He could have just shot them both in that room and be done with it.

Try as he might with his head pounding from a headache, he couldn't decide what Harry might have in store for them, and followed on regardless. They had no choice, but Craig promised to keep his guard up. Harry was not a charitable man and obviously had some plan up his sleeve. He would have to pay attention to what it might be. He absently clutched Helen's hand tighter in his own and pushed on, his feet still feeling like flippers as he stumbled on clumsily.

Harry swept around a corner to the right, moving quickly for a man of his age and size, skipping over the bloodied body of a decapitated soldier. It was only a fleeting glimpse as Craig jumped over the body like it was any other obstacle, his eyes fixed for a moment on the clean way the man's neck had been sliced open. The flesh inside pushed up and out, as though it was trying to escape the confines of the body. He could not see the soldier's head anywhere and stumbled trying to look for it out of morbid curiosity, and a thought struck him.

"Not zombies. Katey could do that. FUCK! She's here!" Craig shouted to himself, although Helen right beside him barely heard. Suddenly she found her role reversed and Craig was pulling her along, almost ripping her off her feet and she struggled to keep up.

Before them a long corridor stretched onward as they rushed through, like blood through a vein as they approached another corner to the right again. Daylight streamed in through an open doorway ahead, marked by another slumped body of a soldier dressed in black. All too quickly, the soldier's body disappeared from view, melting into a shadow cast by moving bodies that blocked the doorway and the sunlight.

Harry quickly zipped around the corner and gave Craig a full view of the coming danger. Like an angry snake, a stream of dirty and dusty zombies tore down the open corridor towards them, twisting and tripping amongst themselves as they clamoured to be the first to reach them. The coming horde seemed to meld together into a mindless monster of thrashing arms and legs as they pushed and shoved each other, thankfully slowing each other down.

"C'mon!"

The deathly view was cut away as they rounded the corner, seeing Harry a fair distance ahead struggling to open a heavy looking steel door at the end of a bare concrete block corridor. The steel vault door reminded Craig of those from inside a submarine and he suddenly felt the claustrophobia and sense of being trapped, especially as he felt no doubt that those zombies behind them would quickly cut off their escape and tear down the corridor after them.

Quickly they caught up with Harry, Helen tripping and smacking against the polished steel as they fumbled with the large lever mounted on the door.

"C'mon! Fucking pull!" Harry shouted, but it sounded like a muffled murmur against the scream of the klaxons.

Their fingers wrapped around the lever's handles, knuckles shining white with the strain as the desperately pulled in unison. Helen yelped with fear as she saw the monstrous tide of undead pour into view and scramble towards them, barking and gurgling with an alien hunger. They would be on them in seconds, like a swarm of locusts that would strip a crop field bare.

Try as they might, the door lever wouldn't move.

"Is this shit locked?" Craig screamed.

Harry's eyes were wide with desperation. Whatever plan he had looked to be folding in on itself. He was genuinely terrified. "It's supposed to open! They said it would."

Craig felt he hands slacken as he looked down on him. He had betrayed them after all in some fashion. He felt like strangling him right there and then, but instead turned his eyes hopelessly back on the charging zombies with a sense of accepting resignation. There was no way out.

He clutched Helen's hand in his and looked into her eyes and she understood with a calm detachment as though it didn't matter.

Time to die.

Time to die together.

A cold rush of wind pulled them out of their trance and rough hands wrapped around them, pulling them back with such a force Craig lost all breath from his lungs. The scream from the emergency sirens dulled and he heard the thud of boots and sharp pops of muted gunfire. Grappling with the strong arms around him, he fought to find Helen and saw her similarly being dragged along by a man dressed in combat gear, all in black.

Turning further around, he saw three more soldiers gathered around the vault doorway and caught a glimpse of Harry being pushed back into the corridor. He eyes shone white with terror as he shouted at the top of his lungs. "Don't leave me!"

One of the guards raised a small machine gun and coolly shot him in the stomach. Harry fell back, clutching himself and squealing in terror, unable to accept the betrayal. He looked up just in time to see the vault door close on him and just like that, Craig lost sight of him.

He was sure he was alive for a moment, writhing on the floor as blood ran between his fingers from the bullet wound in his gut. Possibly he had a chance to turn around and gaze on the vultures that were about to swoop on him. Even though the door muffled everything to silence, Craig swore he could hear him scream.

He could not enjoy the moment however, as his captor pulled him around, pinning his arms against his own body and dragged him along. He tried to focus on Helen, lost amidst the mob of black soldiers, but he couldn't help but gasp as he beheld his surroundings.

It was a hangar. A massive structure of steel that loomed so high over him he had no point of reference to gauge just how high the ceiling was. It reminded him of a tall cathedral, an empty space that made him feel small, nothing of importance or consequence.

Suddenly a loud noise assaulted his ears and sunlight pierced his eyes, blinding him momentarily. The roof was opening and he caught the glimpse of something passing overhead, thankfully blocking out the light. Following a long fang of steel, he laid his eyes on a large helicopter sitting idly on the concrete, flanked all around by black clad soldiers and a man in white he recognised.

Doctor Polanda.

Standing next to him was a slightly rotund man that exuded arrogance and authority was what looked like an army general. Despite his paunch, his thick fingers and cold blue eyes caused Craig to immediately cease his struggling. He looked a deadly man.

They both stared at him hungrily.

* * *

Closer, closer.

They moved with deathly grace, scrambling through the maze, following the scent with both a sense of revulsion and delicious longing. They were catching up. They could smell him. They would taste him soon.

* * *

The general blinked quickly, staring into Craig's eyes like a headmaster about to growl at a disobedient student. "Get him into the cho-"

He was cut off from a dull thud. It echoed through the hangar and rippled through the concrete floor like a stone dropped into still water. It reverberated again, coming from the steel door they just came through. Everyone turned, eyeing the door with fearful curiosity.

Again a dull pounding shook the door, sending puffs of dust springing off the door frame and hinges. Another thump sounded, and the door's polished steel surface was subtly interrupted. It was bending inward, towards them.

Craig felt like smiling, feeling a perverse satisfaction as he looked up at everyone's stunned faces and saw Helen at the back of the chopper still held in the arms of another black soldier, although his posture and grip were slipping as he watched the door buckle inward dumbly like the others.

He knew it was Katey. That damn monster bitch was here and she obviously would not be denied. It was awe inspiring to think something previously so thin and weak was now so strong and ferocious. He hated to think what she could do to him, recalling the claws she brandished at him and her shrill scream that tore at his ear drums on the highway as she attacked. Suddenly he wished the door would hold after all.

Nonetheless, looking around he saw each of the soldiers staring dumbly at the door. He noted a chance to slip out of his own guard's grip and saw the man holding Helen not far away was the same. Looking around for somewhere to go, he spied an open doorway behind the chopper and tensed his legs. Waiting for his guard's arms to loosen a little more, he pushed, elbowing the man in the small of the ribs and charged off towards her.

He heard someone shout after him, but he closed the distance to Helen quickly and gathered his fist for a hard swing. The guard was oblivious to the blow, his eyes fixed on the door until Craig knuckles slammed home into the side of his covered face, and snapped his neck back with such force the back of his head nearly touched between his shoulder blades. His lax grip disappeared altogether as he tumbled to the floor, leaving Helen standing untouched.

"C'mon!" he shouted as he ran passed her, running for an open doorway. She snapped to attention and loped after him, leaving everyone behind.

He heard shouts and boots thudding heavily on the concrete floor after them, but he was focussed on the way out fast approaching. They couldn't stay here and there was no way that helicopter would be able to power up and leave before that monster bashed through that door. He had no doubt they would, and when they did, they would tear apart everyone inside. They had to escape.

Quickly they reached the open doorway and he saw it was also a thick door made of steel, larger again compared to the one now under assault and he quickly pulled his weight against it, pulling it closed with a heavy thud. Helen easily bounded inside as it closed and a series of creaks and snaps signalled the locking mechanism falling into place and sealing them inside.

They both hugged each other, jubilant at cheating death once again and kissed passionately. Craig could feel the strength in her body pressing against his, coursing with adrenaline in the heat of the moment.

However, both of them turned at a stuttered bark behind them.

"Freeze! D-d-don't move!"

* * *

The crowd of soldiers continued to watch the thick door slowly buckle inward with each impact. The previously sheer and perfect surface was now dimpled in several places, distorting further and further.

The general finally shook himself free of the numbing curiosity and shouted at his regiment. "Men, gather positions around this door! Something's coming through and I want it shot to pieces when it shows itself! Understood?!"

The soldiers turned and stared at him. It was as much the cold fury of his eyes as the sharp bark of his orders that woke them, and they retreated behind the chopper and various other items for cover and aimed their machine at the door. The training kicked in, forcing them to settle their breathing and steady their nerves.

The general grabbed Polanda by the shoulder, firm but not disrespectful and guided him away. "Doctor, if that thing is whatever you said it would be, you need to get out of here, into the bunker. You'll come with me. Orchard! Pavlich! Come with us." Two soldiers broke ranks from their hiding places and fell in beside them with wary eyes and machine guns ready. Nonetheless, they both shared the same relief at being spared the coming onslaught.

The general continued. "Ratcher! You have command. Tear that monster apart. Understood?"

"Yessir!" one of the saluted and shouted a series of orders to the remaining men as the general, Polanda and their escort filed away through a similarly heavy steel door down another corridor.

Polanda was obviously flustered. "But General, Craig and Helen escaped. We have to get them back. What about the chopper?"

The general pushed along the doctor with a firm hand as the corridor angled downward. "This place is overrun. We'll need to use the emergency hangar in the bunker. If those boys back there manage to kill of the current threat, we'll retrieve them if they are alive. For the moment, however, those two little shits are no good to anybody if we are dead. Understood?"

Polanda instantly understood the general's cold reasoning and nodded his head in agreement, despite his own instincts. He was a renowned scientist and the world's most important scientific finds were so close to him, and yet that's why he was in such danger. The worth of his own life was greater than theirs, he decided.

Better to bide his time and pick up the pieces later. After all, that man Craig had proved to be exceedingly resilient. A cockroach.

* * *

Craig turned first, followed by Helen as they lay their eyes on the current threat. It was a man dressed in green camouflage fatigues brandishing a pistol at them. He was young, boyish and innocent, but his hand was sure. The gun did not quiver in his grip.

"Drop your shit!" he shouted at them, the squeak of his voice betraying his fear.

"We don't have any shit to drop. We're unarmed." Craig replied, keeping his hands up.

"Down on the ground, h-hands behind your back." The young man ordered, but Craig maintained eye contact with him, as Helen stepped in behind him.

"It's OK, mate. Everything's OK. We're unarmed." He said soothingly, trying to keep his eyes level with the young man's and not on the gun pointed at him. He remembered a line from TV once, when a cop said most people are so terrified of the gun pointed at them, when it was the man behind that was the danger. He was the one with his finger on the trigger.

Craig estimated the distance between them. Only three steps. If he could distract him for only a moment, he might be able to get to him and take him out. He licked his lips and steadied his nerve, but flinched slightly when he felt something cold and hard touch the small of his back.

"It's OK. Everything's fine. I'm gonna kneel down now, OK?" he said softly as he brought one hand behind him and wrapped his fingers around the object. It was a small knife. Helen was sneaking it into his hands.

The handover done cleanly, Helen provided the distraction for him, looking over Craig's shoulder and screaming at an enemy. Craig was caught by surprise, as was the young man who turned in a panic and fired blindly. Craig realised Helen's intent quickly and surged forward, shoving the knife into the man's neck, stabbing over and over in quick succession as the young man vainly looked for the danger.

He slumped quickly as blood poured from his torn neck, and Craig eased his body down on the floor and scooped up the gun.

"Good work, baby." Helen wrapped her arms around him and pecked him on his cheek, as he handed the knife back to her.

Craig focussed on the job at hand and surveyed their surroundings. It was a cramped corridor that snaked up some small stairs into an open control room of some sort. An empty space of swivel chairs and a flat table nestled underneath the glow of a long bank of computer screens. Scanning the images, they quickly discovered they showed pictures from throughout the base and the hanger outside.

Squinting into the static, he saw the helicopter and smudges he assumed to be the soldiers taking up positions ready to fire. He could see the doorway now, bent in horribly and giving more and more by the second. It was about to break. His tongue was dry and his stomach felt as though it was consuming itself as he saw the hinges break off and the onslaught began.

**Author's note: Sorry it's been a long time between innings, but I've been insanely busy at work. I've been working weekends and everything. Thankfully, that's died down now and I can resume writing. Apologies for the small hiatus, but rest assured, I'm back now.**

**Sorry if the quality's a little down, but this was written rather quickly.**


	47. Sacrifice

Dead Opportunities: Book 2

**Dead Opportunities: Book 2**

**A New World Rises**

**Chapter 21: Sacrifice**

Together they stood and watched with a curious mixture of horror and satisfaction. The picture on the television screen was a little grainy, but it was enough to deduce the details. They watched, hand in hand as the vault door broke off its hinges and two blurred shapes flew into the hanger amidst a hail of gunfire. They moved too quickly for the soldiers outside to track and most shots missed entirely. Those that bit home into their enemies' flesh did so in a non-fatal manner and entirely by luck.

The succeeding minutes played out exactly as Craig and Helen expected. Through the haze of smoke and dust, many realised all too late their intended targets were already behind them and or outflanking them and closing for a swift kill. Some were dispatched cleanly and efficiently, however as the confused carnage wore on, the two inhuman assassins seemed to relax and toyed with their prey like a killer whale flips about a crippled seal. The lesser of the two figures seemed to be especially callous, as it impaled a soldier through the gut and hoisted him above its own head. It spun in an ever accelerating circle until the centrifugal force was enough for its talons to tear through the poor man's torso and leave him flying across the open space in two opposing directions.

The other delighted in cornering another poor soul and biting down on his prey's helmeted skull until it cracked and collapsed in a bloody pop. Whatever smiles Craig and Helen humourlessly maintained on their faces faded away at the spectacle, leaving them thankful the camera had no audio feed to hear the soldier's terrified screams, the crack of bone splintering, flesh tearing or the evil creature's insane laughter.

However disgusted they both were, it was not the above display that made the blood run from Craig's face. He watched as the carnage finally petered out and ceased as the monsters looked over their kills, ensuring no survivors. He then watched as the monsters stepped forward and stared directly into the camera. One stepped forward first, a tall lithe monstrosity of hair and elongated talons. It was Katey.

He was unsurprised by the gesture as he felt as though she could sense his location even during the height of the massacre. It took all of the nerve he could muster to stare back at her without looking away or stepping backwards.

But it was the second figure that caused him to do so. It was a more squat figure, stocky and muscled but glided through the air with the same unnatural effort as his companion. When he looked up, Craig gasped and Helen nearly fainted.

Craig was both surprised and unsurprised to see that there was a second monster, but he didn't expect it to be Greg. Even though the face was bloated, discoloured and transformed, he recognised him at once and it stung to the core of his very being. His friend was not dead after all. Rather he was in a worse place.

Eyes fixed to the screen, they spoke to each other without words or gestures. Greg spoke first.

_Craig. I will kill you._

"Oh shit…." Was all Craig's stunted mind could manage and gave no indication he expected anything other that Greg would keep his promise.

Sensing Craig's private conclusion, Greg backed away from the camera's reach, as did Katey, leaving Craig and Helen alone with the stunning realisation they were trapped and were going to die.

XX

"What are we going to do?"

"I'm thinking."

Craig and Helen sat huddled by the leg of the table in the centre of the control room. They had sat there for a very long time. Exactly how long they could not be sure, but nonetheless gripped onto their time together for all it was worth.

"We aren't going to survive this are we?"

Craig couldn't will his lips to part to answer, so he shook his head dumbly, staring at the floor.

"Hey."

Craig looked down at his love, curled up in his arms and leaning her head on his chest. She was listening to his heart beat.

"I love you."

"I love you too." Craig replied and resumed staring at the floor thinking of some possible solution. Helen reached up, grabbed his chin and forced him to stare down at her once more.

"I mean it. I love you."

He could see she meant it. Her eyes shone in the artificial light, tears not far away. He felt a tug on the heart she was so carefully listening to and reflected on the catch 22 that had been this whole zombie plague end of the world mess.

What had it done to him?

It had destroyed everything he held dear, even though that did not amount to much. His wife had left him and his children abandoned him. They had more or less disappeared from his life five years ago. He had no friends to lose either, or possessions of any notable degree.

But then again, what had he gained?

The plague had set him free. Before a drunken broken wretch of a man, he had survived the greatest threat to the human race, at least up to now. Although he had committed his crimes, his soul had been set free. All of the chains that held him down gone. He had exacted revenge on all of those that had shit on his life and come out of the ordeal refreshed and renewed.

But more importantly, he had discovered the love of his life. He had never believed much in romance before. Most of the romantic things he had done before for his ex-wife were presents and efforts bestowed more with a mind to obtain sex rather than a dearly held love for her. He had never risked his life for anyone before. But staring down into his love's glossy eyes, he realised she was the single greatest thing to ever have happened to him.

And now, reflecting on it he realised the catch 22. For him to gain everything, he had to lose it all. Had the plague never happened, he would remain the broken mess he was, alone. But it took the destruction of the world to find the woman he would happily call his wife.

"Helen."

"Yes?"

"Will you marry me?"

Helen stared up at him in dumb shock and quickly descended into a mess of tears and she locked her arms around him, and his around her.

"Yes." She finally managed to say and they kissed with more passion than they had ever felt.

In the moment that they desperately tore the clothes of each other's backs and made love on the table, they forgot the threat that waited patiently outside.

As Craig and Helen collapsed in each other arms and settled into a comfortable sleep, Helen cried. Craig kissed her on the forehead and smiled at her and lay his head back down again. But he did not know Helen cried out of happiness and sadness.

For what they had and what she was about to do.

XX

Slowly the fog of a troubled sleep lifted and he awoke. He knew immediately something was wrong as he could not feel the familiar weight of his love's body against his or the pleasantly irritating itch of her hair in his face.

He sat up and looked about the room and his eyes stared upon a sight that tore his heart from his chest.

Helen's dead body was hanging above him from an electrical cord tied about her neck. She had hung herself.

A mixture of anger and sorrow exploded throughout his body and burned up through his throat in a gut wrenching scream. After all that had happened, one of the few things that had been good to him, the only thing that now mattered and was treasured beyond his own life was dead before him.

Over and over he screamed at God. At himself. At the world. At everything and finally Helen herself as she stared down with hollow eyes.

Why?

Through the tears, he saw a note on the table at her feet and snatched it.

_Craig,_

_I love you more than anything. You know that. All I can say is I'm sorry, but it's for a reason. I want you to live. One of us has to. You are stronger than me._

_That's why I've killed myself. So I will come back. I only hope I can hold onto myself to know who you are. I think I can now. We're engaged now after all, right?_

_I hope that then I can walk outside and tear those to fucking monsters to pieces and clear the way for your escape. You have to live, baby. That's my gift to you._

_Don't fuck it up._

_I love you._

_Helen_

XX

It took two days for the transformation to occur, and it was preceded by Helen's eyes twitching open and her body swaying on the cord as she moved. Sitting in the corner with his pistol ready in his hand, Craig watched as the creature that was his love awoke.

With a strength he couldn't fathom, the creature snapped the cord and unravelled it, letting it drop to the floor with a thump that made Craig whimper. The creature heard him and turned, staring right at him.

It was her and not her. She was a familiar shell, but her eyes glowed with a shade of red he didn't recognise and instinctively the gun in his hand felt heavier as it demanding to be used. He raised it against his own head and held it ready as she studied him.

She stepped forward, sniffing the air with the curiosity of a tiger sensing a meal and made no sound as her feet met the floor. No sound at all.

Craig huddled within himself, trying to retreat further into the corner in which he sat and suddenly understood how Katey must have felt so long ago before she died in his custody.

At all times as she moved, she stared him in the eyes until she squatted right before him, their noses barely inches away from each other. Moments, minutes, hours as Craig shook with fear and she remained motionless like a statue.

Although he met her eyes, he dared not to read them lest he found something he didn't want to see, namely his coming death. Whatever doubts he had and fear he would be torn to pieces at any moment, however, he still clung to the desperate belief that this was not a monster, but his love.

Still his love. Just.

She blinked and slithered away.

Like a lizard, she moved across the floor and found the dead soldier at the base of the stairs. He had been there for two days now and was beginning to stink.

Craig had been spared. He wasn't sure exactly what happened or to what degree of recognition the creature displayed. He wasn't sure just how much of Helen remained inside, but he doubted it was very much. Nonetheless, it appeared to be enough.

Despite the relief, he still shook alone in the corner as he listened to unmistakable and cringing sound of flesh being torn away. That creature was eating the carcass of the dead man and Craig couldn't help but retch at the thought of the mouth he kissed only hours ago committing such an unholy and inhuman act.

It seemed like forever until she was finished and she retired to the confines of the rafters above, unseen and sleeping.

XX

It was another day until she emerged and in that time Craig had barely slept. He dared not to. It took all of the courage he could summon to move to another corner for ablutions, before he scurried back to his fearful home hoping the beast above would not suddenly change its mind and eat him too.

It was strange to think now that he was in a position similar to the start of the entire mess. As before, he was confined in a room with a gun and wanted to die. But this time, the monsters were not in head, but real and for all he knew hungry.

Lost in his thoughts, he didn't even realise Helen was crouching before him barely a metre away. He hadn't heard her coming or seen her move, yet she was right there.

She stared at him again, unmoving and without blinking.

He tried to stare back and wondered where he had put the gun.

_It is time. I am ready._ The creature said without speaking and rose to its full height.

Although the features of Helen's face were relatively undisturbed save for the characteristic black veins that crept beneath her skin, her body was changed immeasurably. No longer a thin female form, it was a tangle of unnatural muscle and talons that shone dully in the pale light. He could even see his quivering reflection in them as saw just how haggard and pathetic he had become from fear.

_Stop that._

The soundless voice was both jarring and comforting and instantly his limbs relaxed. A strange warmth in the air felt familiar, as though someone reassuring stood by his side, but as he turned to see, he found no one there.

He rose to his feet, at first uncertain, but with growing confidence until he stood at full height. Helen had previously been half a head shorter than him, but now this creature stood a full two feet taller. He couldn't help but notice he was almost eye to eye with the creature's curiously warped breasts.

It turned and strode soundlessly and weightlessly away down the stairs and waited by the vault door, blending in with the meagre shadows.

_They are waiting for us. It is time. Open the door._

Craig obeyed instinctively and scrambled to gather his nerves in the time it took for his legs to take him from his corner to the door beside her. He knew she was beside him, but strangely, he still couldn't see her.

He again felt the reassuring weight of the pistol in his right hand and reflected again on the note Helen had left for him. It was tucked into his breast pocket.

Don't fuck it up, she had said.

With a deep breath, he steadied his nerves and unclasped the door latch.


	48. Confrontation

Dead Opportunities: Book 2

**Dead Opportunities: Book 2**

**A New World Rises**

**Chapter 22: Confrontation**

The door latch was much lighter than he expected. For such a heavy door, it snapped open with the barest of effort from his fingers. With a slight push, the door opened and seemed to suck the air through like a vacuum.

Craig was afraid, but then again unafraid. He knew this was to be a key confrontation, a grand dance with death that in all likelihood he was going to lose, but he'd had time enough over the past two days watching Helen transform to come to terms with the situation. We all have to die sometime, he pondered. I've been lucky up to now. Let's see if it will hold just a little longer.

The heavy door swung open silently and surprisingly did not reveal a great expanse of dead bodies as he expected, rather the helicopter still neatly parked in the centre. The hangar's walls and concrete floor held the telltale signs of a gunfight and its ensuing death. Bullet holes and striations disturbed the peace in several places, concentrated amongst the other heavy door, that was curiously leaning neatly against the open doorway. Pools of dried coagulated blood still clung to the floor, many interrupted by the imprint of the bodies from which they spilled, now strangely removed, nowhere to be seen.

Nevertheless, the hanger smelled of death, both past and soon to come.

Craig couldn't help but hesitate a moment from stepping through the threshold into the open, feeling naked and vulnerable in his pitifully protection-free clothes and impotent as the weight of the pistol in his right hand lessened.

Helen, however stepped through, no, wafted through the opening as though drawn by the deathly aura that repulsed her former partner so. She seemed to lick the air like a lizard guided by the taste to where it hung thickest, where fate could be found. Craig followed uneasily in step behind her.

The expanse of the hanger seemed to both hide the tension and exaggerate it in curious ways. Calmly, he looked passed Helen's shoulder and saw their two enemies waiting calmly in the corner next to a large pile of black clothed bodies. They waited patiently, like standing in line holding hands back in pre-school and stared at them with a calm curiosity. They did not move, but Helen continue to stroll towards them without a moment's pause, stepping ahead of Craig who felt an invisible desire to hang back.

Helen suddenly halted and regarded her adversaries in silence. There were no telepathic messages, no words and no sounds. The three monsters stared back and forth, studying each other, watching for the first move. Craig felt a desperate grin at the thought of a wild western stand off. He half expected a clichéd tumbleweed to roll across the empty way, but suppressed his smile for fear of providing their awaited provocation.

Quickly the paralysing fog around Craig's senses lifted and he thought of the soldiers piled high in the corner. His eyes darted in all directions and saw a detail he missed before. The monsters had removed the bodies, but left their owner's guns and bullet cartridges behind strewn about the floor. One such weapon was only metres away from him right now, a lethal looking machine gun. It was a heavy looking thing and thoughts of movies from his childhood appeared, picturing Arnold Schwarzenegger wielding the weapon to great effect with cheesy 80's rock music singing from nowhere.

He gritted his teeth and widened his stance, now feeling very ready. His heart rate was climbing, his adrenal gland dribbling out the precursor to the angry storm when he would react without hesitation, when he would lose himself in the moment. When he would become alive.

Perhaps they expected it and were indeed waiting for just that as Katey and Greg charged forward, met with equal ferocity from Helen in an instant of blurred speed. Greg met her first with outstretched taloned fingers, but Helen crouched and snapped him aside over the helicopter with a heavy swing of her arm. Gracefully, she kept her knotted body swinging around, using the momentum to build a strike as Katey jumped upon her, only to also be thumped aside cleanly.

Craig dived over and laid his fingers on the heavy machine gun, hoping the magazine was not empty. He wasn't sure how he would be able to get a clear shot with injuring Helen unless he actively engaged one of them himself. The thought was both frightening and devilishly arousing and he ran away from Helen around the Helicopter shouting at the top of his lungs.

"C'mon, fuckers!"

He could not see anything for an instant as the helicopter's hulking mass blocked out the line of sight, but managed to see both Helen's and Katey's wirelike hair whip about above it, and heard them growl and screech like nails on a chalkboard.

Greg soon showed himself high above the scene, climbing the walls overhead directly toward Craig. His great fingers dug into the hangar's steel sides like they were children's clay as he let forth a deep roar, bearing incisors still laced with the blood of the dead soldiers. With a heavy push of his thick legs, he propelled himself into the air straight for his target with talons outstretched like an eagle ready to snatch a kill.

Craig suppressed the desire to fully embrace the excitement of the moment and focussed his hands, fingers and arms to carefully bring the heavy machine gun up towards his target. He stole a short moment to reflect on the clarity of his actions, honed from the trials of the passed few months. He was not panicked even as Greg sailed through the open air, closing the difference inhumanly quickly, rather seemed to calculate the actions required to meet the challenge and commanded his body to move without the impediment of fear or shock.

He pulled the trigger, again hoping to feel a distinct pain stab into the crook of his shoulder that would signify bullets were being spewed out towards the target and hopefully rip the coming monster in half. He was not disappointed, rather surprised to lose his balance, not expecting the gun's kick to be so strong. He felt the gun pull upwards towards the ceiling, out of control as it thundered loudly in the closed hangar.

The hair on Craig's neck shot up as he felt the gun slip out of his hands and jump away, leaving him completely exposed. About to die.

Greg's momentum was lost as the first shots hit home in his abdomen and then progressively hit home further up his body. Through the haze of gunfire and bloodlust, he saw Craig mishandle the gun, but had not the time to understand it was his own undoing and not his prey's. As the gun pulled up, so did its line of fire trace up Greg's body and passed through his head. One shot of the large calibre s bullets sailed true and punched through his skull and tore a path through his brain. The shockwave within his head was enough to churn his brain into a useless pulp, even after the bullet had exited through a hole the size of a small coin. Instantly his body slumped and dropped to the ground with a clumsy thump at Craig feet. Inert. Broken. Dead.

Craig flinched, unable to see through the blinding flash of his gun's muzzle flash, and still stood paralysed expected to be torn to pieces. The heavy collision of his enemy with the floor woke his body from the shock and he looked down to see the bloodied mess before him. In that moment, the corpse was no longer a monster, but his dead friend. A pain stabbed into his heart as he remembered his friend in his pure form, how he was supposed to be remembered and thought of what Greg might say to him now.

"Kill that bitch."

Once again the fear left his body like water gushing down a newly removed plughole and grabbed the machine gun again. Circling around the helicopter, he brought the gun to bear and tensed his trigger finger. It quickly relaxed as he watched the battle still raging in full.

They were a blur of hair and limbs that slashed in all directions with a ferocity he was thankful to only watch and not be subject to. Craig could barely tell who was who amongst the tussle, and it was difficult to tell who was winning.

Both of the combatants showed bared teeth gritted down tightly in abject hatred and their naked bodies were both covered in black bloodied slashes. Growls escaped with every strike, sounding like tigers in the middle of a fight in the name of bloodlust, not food.

Suddenly the fight slowed and stopped as a fateful strike amongst the mess of taloned fingers and sledgehammer fists hit home. It was a long pointed finger lodged cleanly through the abdomen of the other, and Craig squinted to make out the victor, praying desperately for it to be Helen.

It was.

Helen's face, as difficult as it was to recognise was contorted in a devilish grin that distorted almost all of her humanly facial features. Katey writhed beneath her sure grip, trying weakly to escape. There was no chance to appeal for mercy. Katey didn't even try. Perhaps she knew it would never come, perhaps she didn't even know the concept existed.

In any case, it didn't matter as Helen let loose a gravelled laugh that grated down Craig's spine and snapped her arm across, cutting Katey's body cleanly in half. She stood their smiling insanely as black drops of blood streamed down her twisted face, both her own and her enemy's as her laugh burst forth in a celebration of the kill.

"Helen?" Craig blurted out, horrified at the monster before her, unable to imprint the shape of his lover over the sight in front of him now and suddenly felt very afraid.

His voice disturbed her revelry and she looked at him with the same blood red eyes and sickly smile and Craig felt a distinct tug at the very base of his bowels. She didn't recognise him. She was going to tear him apart just like she did Katey.

"Oh God." He breathed as Helen charged in a furious howl.

Blind instincts kicked in and moved his body in a way his conscious mind could not. It lifted the machine still in his hands, long forgotten, and pulled the trigger. He could feel his body moving, he could see the barrel of the gun rise before him and line up the target. He willed it not to happen, but he couldn't stop it. He tried desperately to tell his hands that she was still his love, even as he doubted it, but it was too late.

As the gun's barrel flashed and blinded him, and the butt of the stock punched into his shoulder, he knew it was all too late and even before his trigger finger had bled the gun dry, the bullets that had been summoned forth had struck home and on target.

Helen's thrashing advance was halted and her twisted form thrown back against the far wall. With a heavy crash, she was flung into the pile of dead soldiers which toppled down on top of her. She settled there amongst the mess of tangled arms and legs and did not move.

Craig stared at her, willing her eyes to open even as his finger still clung dumbly to the trigger, causing the gun to tick over uselessly. He ran over and cupped her mangled face in his hands.

She seemed so peaceful now. Her angry visage replaced by a cool stillness. She looked almost human again, like she appeared when she slept draped over his chest after they would make love.

He didn't have the opportunity to savour the calmness, as a loud series of thumps from behind him disrupted the quiet. He turned, still with the empty machine gun in his right hand and saw a small group of soldiers skulking across the way towards the helicopter. Numerous guns were drawn and pointed right at him.

A large man Craig recognised from before as the General stepped forward with a satisfied smile cut into his thick face. "My, my. Quite a spectacle. Don't move." He turned, still smiling and barked at the man next to him. "Stun him."

Craig tried to dive away, but he felt a sting puncture his chest like a stabbed knife. His legs suddenly felt weak and heavy and he tripped onto the floor. The bodies of the dead black-clad soldiers around him and the encroaching reach of sleep became indistinguishable as he lapsed into unconsciousness.

Polander stepped out through the rabble of soldiers and said coldly, "Package all of this up. Take him and the three bodies. We have to get them to Gateway."

The General, towering over the scientist by a solid foot, smiled in total agreement. "Time to leave all of this shit behind. Get to work!"


	49. End of the Beginning

**Dead Opportunities: Book 2**

**A New World Rises**

**Chapter 23: The End of the Beginning**

It was a long time before the man woke again, sedated carefully with powerful drugs and monitored religiously. Even as he woke it was a long moment suspended in a confused haze before awareness broke through and he was fully conscious.

His eyes suddenly burned, having been open and staring ahead dumbly until they were dry. It was another impetus towards wakefulness and the first blink focussed his vision onto the sharp face hovering before him. Dr Polander.

"Where am I?

"You are in a safe place."

He tried to move, but was constrained by unseen bonds. Even his head was held down by straps that chafed against his skin that could not be seen. Slowly the scene around him became evident. He saw rows of neatly upholstered seats, surrounded by a distinct absence of people. The walls around him were dimly lit by a gentle glow of overhead lights that reminded him of nights with his friends during Halloween as a child. It was spooky and reassuring back then, but the décor here was cold and functional and gave everything an unsettling eeriness. That he was somewhere entirely foreign. Somewhere particularly important for reasons he did not know.

A plane.

He was in a plane.

A far away sense of moving was confirmed by the slightest of tugs on his stomach, like cresting a hill and embracing the sudden rush of descent diluted millions of times.

"What happened?"

"You should be able to remember that. Those specimens were destroyed by your own hand. We have them on ice with us."

"Where are we?"

"Air Force One."

The answer was so entirely unexpected that Craig coughed and laughed out loud. He couldn't help it. After having been through so much and now to be in the President's plane. _What next? Are they gonna shove me into Sputnik?_

Polander's concentration was broken. He had expected disbelief, but not amusement. Nevertheless, he couldn't suppress a mild grin of his own.

"Yes, I agree it seems fantastical. But rest assured, it is not a joke. Rather it is a compliment."

"Compliment?"

"Yes, a reflection of how important you are."

"Important? You mean from a scientific point of view?"

"Yes."

"What do you plan to use me for?"

Polander relaxed markedly, reclining back into one of the stiffly comfortable seats and crossed his legs. His brows creased with thought. "Who knows as yet? A cure? A genetic template for a supersoldier program? There are numerous possibilities. Look at all of the havoc you caused."

Craig's thoughts turned to the past few moments prior to his capture and Helen's unspoiled face popped into his mind and refused to budge. "What about Helen? What are you planning for her?"

"Her corpse you mean." Polander interjected dryly as Craig strained angrily at the straps. Futilely. Polander continued on with his small grin growing into a condescending smile. "She will provide valuable research through genetic testing and I will study her anatomy as a matter of personal curiosity. Autopsies are such a peaceful pastime."

"Fuck you." Craig barked as he pictured Helen's mangled body being cut apart by faceless men in white coats. Demon's with fingers of sharp scalpels hungrily thrusting their fingers inside her and playing with her intestines.

Polander simply maintained his posture, entirely unafraid and unconcerned. The opinions of a specimen were redundant. They had no choice.

"Where are we going?" Craig settled down and asked politely. If he was going to be stuck here like this, he could at least try and get some answers.

"Area 71."

"Area 71?"  
"Yes."

"Don't you mean Area 51?"

It was Polander's turn to laugh. It was a shrill whine that made Craig want to close his eyes as tightly as he could and dream of being entirely somewhere else. It sounded like an old teacher of his that he despised.

"No. No. I do mean Area 71. Area 51 doesn't exist. Never particularly did."

"What do you mean?"

"Were you ever a fan of the X-Files?"

"Not really."

"Oh. Well, it's a bit of a long story. So you had better sit down and make yourself comfortable." Polander smiled at his own joke as Craig scowled. "Aliens never crash landed at Area 51. Aliens don't exist. Anyone with half a brain should know that or suspect as much. All sorts of secret works have been ongoing for hundreds of years to one degree another under the cover of government suppression, but it was the dawning of the modern age after World War II that made it so much more difficult to continue as things were."

Craig leaned forward as best he could and interrupted. "Just a question, how do you know this? Hundreds of years?"

Polander fiddled absently with his knuckles. "Extensive historical files. I was sparingly involved in a stock take of these files and their translation into soft copy form. But anyway, it's quite the history lesson. The myth of Area 51 was created to divert attention away from real works of secrecy. Everyone loves the idea of aliens, that we are not alone and such rubbish. It worked quite a deal better than anticipated. Whilst everyone was focussed on the deserts of Nevada, vaults and facilities were built into all sorts of other places under all sorts of pretexts. Area 51 is real insofar as a facility is located there. But is serves no other function than to distract and provide mystery. Soldiers were even posted there with the strict orders to guard it, but had no idea they were guarding deliberately empty storerooms. Even high ranking generals made trips there and went about the charade of being involved in secret comings and goings to ensure an air of intrigue."

Polander waited for Craig to interrupt again, but was quite happy to see Craig was listening intently.

Bahaving.

Enraptured.

He continued.

And so whilst JFK was shot, the Cuban missile crisis unfolded and the cold war came and went, all sorts of secret research was conducted and facilities built as I mentioned. Including Area 71 in the Canadian mountains. It was built with the sole purpose of studying the zombie virus quite a many years ago.

"What? You knew about the virus?"

"Yes, of course. What do you expect? It's the most destructive thing in the world. Do you really think people as powerful as ourselves, with our fingers in every pie would not have an active interest in this one?"

Craig was dumbfounded. The zombie outbreak had been such a devastating surprise on the whole world, and to think that all this time it had been kept secret in some faraway place by greedy men in suits was both astonishing and infuriating. How as the virus released? Were they responsible? Was it an accident? Or an apocalyptic experiment?

Craig tried to form words, to force out his angry questions, but Polander interrupted once more coolly.

"However, the virus as it is now is not as it once was. You are evidence of this. People like you have a certain genetic marker that unlocks a sub-section of the virus capable of much more drastic… symptoms."

"People like me?"

Polander leaned forward in his chair, resting his pointed chin on his knuckles. He smiled again, this time showing off all of the glaringly artificially whitened teeth he had. A wicked smile. That of a man in complete control and completely enraptured by it.

"Yes. There are others like you. You should rest some more. We'll be there in a few hours. Then you can meet them."

**Authors note: That's a wrap for Book 2. Hope you liked it. **

**BOOK III IS COMING**

**Area 71!**

**Other mutants!**

**Air Force One!**

**A secret Canadian lab!**

**Government Conspiracies!**

**Crippling bouts of writer's block solved by poorly thought out ideas!!!**

**Shortfalls in personal funding solved by gratuitous and unrelated product placements!!!!**

**It's gonna have it ALL!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!**

**But seriously, Book III is going to be greater in scope. Want to know where the virus came from, how and why it was released? The secret of the mutant strain and what it means?**

**What's gonna happen to Craig?**

**THE GRAND CONSPIRACY WILL BE REVEALED!!!**

**(Who knows, I might even write Obama into it).**


	50. Book III: Sleep now in the fire

**Dead Opportunities: Book 3**

**Ride the Spiral to the End **

**Author's note: This chapter was strangely missing from before. Sorry for that. Please read Book 3 from here on as it's different to before. I've started again and I think it's better.**

**Chapter 1: Sleep now in the fire (v2)**

Wherever he was, it was a peaceful place to be. It was somewhere between sleep and wakefulness, held in limbo by an array of needles which administered a drug-induced non-sleep. Men and women lingered around their specimen, inspecting readouts, talking amongst themselves using medical and scientific jargon. Under their white coats, some wore handguns cradled in holsters in addition to the stationed guards in combat fatigues who brandished high-powered assault rifles. Whilst their special curiosity was both (half) asleep and strapped down, they none the less proceeded with caution as was their nature.

They were doctors, scientists and decision makers who one and all prided on thoroughness and measured thought to arrive at the best possible outcome. Further, each one carried a distinct minimum of ambition and greed, heightened as they looked on the helpless suspended body.

His name was Craig, but no one preferred to think of him in such a way, rather a mass of nameless flesh and thought that was a potential gold mine of various uses.

Slowly the stale conditioned air rushed through a breathing tube that wound its way to the top of his lungs and needles both collected and injected bodily fluids. A heartbeat made of flesh was matched by a monotonous 'beep' only a foot away that was monitored by a computer for the slightest deviation from normal.

Millions of dollars of equipment surrounded him, both in terms of equipment as well as talent. He was in a very secret place.

The rest of the plane ride had disappeared from memory as a result of the very same drugs that now casually sauntered through his veins. Doctor Polanda sat for a moment to watch his new specimen and dwell on all of the potential at his fingertips. It was intoxicating. He felt it then as he felt it now, standing still amongst the gentle current of curious white coats around him in the laboratory.

His fingers itched slightly as the plastic gloves of his pressure bit into the webs between his fingers. The lab was a 'clean room', its air conditioning systems state of the art and the security water tight. Every spare hole or source of fresh air had been sealed behind bullet proof plexi-glass with a two stage airlock the only way in or out.

Polanda's fingers continued to itch, but he didn't feel it. He was once again lost in his meanderings, talking to himself quietly as his tongue constantly went dry. He could feel eyes on him. Half on him more like. His superiors looked from above in a sealed theatre mounted 20 feet up in the ceiling. Various government officials and people of import stared down with the same absent hunger and greed, even if they didn't share Polanda's raw sense of fascination. They instead substituted this for suspicion. Whilst they looked down on the specimen known as Craig, they were all too aware that the only asset on hand at the moment was potential. Polanda was the man in charge of turning that into a usable reality and they each held doubts as to what degree it would materialise. Some doubted him completely. Some worshipped him for the simple gain he could provide. Even though they all joked the world had gone to hell, and for all purposes it had, they till reasoned in terms of money for which a bounty was to come. Some, however did not wear suits with cuff links made of pearl and gold, but shared the white coat and marvelled at the challenge.

A pair of dry lips were moistened before words passed between them, "Polanda, when do you intend to proceed?"

Polanda was brought out of his internal meanderings and back to the present. He rubbed his gloved hands together to get rid of the itch. He looked to his right and saw his assistant who looked back through the slightly fogged plastic visor with eager yet nervous eyes. He did not speak, not avert his eyes from Polanda's piercing gaze. That was his answer.

"Presently." Polanda spoke into his mouthpiece without turning to address the people above him. He did, however look to see all besides himself and his assistant leave the room through the airlock doors to be replaced by four guards in similar pressure suits armed with machine guns. Each walked in and settled around the specimen, one in each corner of the room looking inward.

Polanda eyed each one for a moment, judging their nerve, but each one stared not at him, but the specimen before them with stony faces. He then turned his eyes to his assistant, "Dodson, is everything ready?"

Dodson was a short pudgy man of middle years who art first glance seemed more at home at a desk job on a comfortable seat stamping forms than in a lab coat on his feet pioneering science. Polanda never particularly liked him, and held any friendship at bay in the name of professionalism, but nonetheless respected him for his raw intellect. As it was in their field, petty squabbles and discrimination gave way to a simple question of who was best for the job. Besides, Polanda had firmly established he was the superior and that any credit would be his. Dodson in his usual timidness, acquiesced.

"Yes." He half whispered and reached for the button on the console next to him that would start the process. Despite Polanda's grandeur and prestige, Dodson took his credit where he could, and privately smiled that he was the one pushing the button, not Polanda.

The machines were a hive of activity, but it was all muffled and hidden behind their metallic casings. A television screen hung above their subject and flashed t life in a series of readouts that the two men eyed with full attention, looking for any deviations or unexpected peaks or troughs in lifesigns.

Out of the myriad of needles and tubes that wound into the specimen, one slowly filled with a pale blue liquid. It snaked along, traversing the winding tube into the specimen's arm until it met with the vein and the liquid entered the blood stream.

Polanda and Dodson stiffened with anticipation. The guards had been briefed and knew to turn off the safeties on their rifles. They did so now with the barest of movements of their thumbs without taking their eyes off where they had been.

Polanda and Dodson continued to watch as the serum continued to flow. They had done this procedure numerous times before on other subjects and each time had been forced to abandon the room flanked by guards.

The first time a young man had suddenly awoken thrashing against his bonds in a wild frenzy. From the safety of the ceiling theatre they watch him gradually work his way out of the bonds by chewing his arms off one after the other. His legs still bound, he proceeded to chew them off to and only stopped when he had bled to death.

This left them intrigued even though it was a technical failure and rigged the bonds to unclasp at the touch of a button.

The second candidate was also a young man who also woke in a violent flurry. Like his comrade, he moved to chew himself free of his bonds and leapt of the table when they suddenly retraced away upon Polanda's instruction. Like a crazed monkey he jumped about the room leading with his fists, smashing the plexi-glass windows to no avail and proceeded to stomp on the floor. A floor tile dislodged and he sodomised himself to death with it. Blood and shit gushed onto the floor as he stabbed himself repeated seemingly without any sense of pain, shouting and grunting all the while with a terrifying crooked smile on his lips. Not once did he blink through the ordeal either.

Further playing to the spectacle, they next attempted the procedure with a man and woman and watched as they too became crazed animals and attacked each other. In a tangle mess of arms and legs, they both tried to violently rape each other, with the apparent victor being the women who castrated her victim with her teeth and choked to death.

Further trials had been attempted with the same outcome of unbridled violence and depravity, as Polanda watched, both fascinated and amused. None of them were people of note or import, All were either volunteers or death row criminals. It was all Dodson could do to not vomit during each display, but he forced himself to keep his composure in case Polanda might suspect weakness and order him shot. Dodson reminded himself again and again of the scientific significance of the exercises, and did so now again as he watched nervously.

"Stage one complete. Approaching point of turning."

Polanda stood fixed on the spot. Of all of the previous subjects, almost all had begun turning into mindless monsters by now. Almost all.

Two had survived.

He was determined to see a third now.

The screen above flashed, vital signs and brain scan data began spiking and an alarm sounded.

"Elevated signs! He's turning!" Dodson wailed as sweat touched his lips.

"It's below tolerance. He's still under." Polanda responded firmly. The guards looked nervous.

"His signs are still rising, slower than the others, but still rising. We're almost to 210."

"Reduce dose by 20%. Slow it down."

"Yessir."

Polanda was nervous and angry. His subject was turning, his signs spiking up like the others, albeit a little slower. At this rate he would wake up and start growling in a matter of seconds. If his pulse his 230 beats per minute, he would be turned.

"Ascent slowing. He's plateauing at 219."

"Keep the dose at 80%."

"If we keep this up he's going to turn."

"If we don't he's going to die anyway. Keep the dose stable."

"Yessir. 223."

The specimen was twitching now, eyes still closed, but the veins bulged beneath the skin. Blood and adrenaline and the serum were surging throughout his body and his temperature was that of a man about normally about to die. His skin was searing hot to the touch, but he was not sweating. The serum was taking hold.

"Reduce dose to half."

"Yessir. 225."

Here. He had to hold it here. The two survivors had a pulse hovering between 225 and 230. He had to keep it within that band for only a few minutes. If he failed, the pulse would spike and Craig would turn, or drop drastically into cardiac arrest and death.

"226."

The audience behind him were clutching the arm rests of their seats with white knuckles and sweating, both out of fear and exhilaration. Some wanted to see the subject turn out of a perverse longing, but others silently willed Polanda on for the sake of the money at stake.

"227. 228."

"Drop the dose another 10%. We need to hold it here. If he goes up one more, halve it."

"229!"

"Halve it!"

"It's too late! He's on 231 already!"

The specimen shivered and shook, convulsing on the table as Dodson stepped away for the airlock to leave. Polanda stood his ground stubbornly, determined to stay until Craig's eyes met his own and showed the crazed terror.

Craig continued to strain and grunt as though fighting it somehow and Polanda stood hopeful, but it was dashed it pieces when he opened his eyes and stared into Polanda's own with the look of death in them.

A strong arm grabbed him from the side and pulled him away, but Polanda screamed in fury. As much as he knew he had to evacuate, he wanted to stay.

"Sir! Come with me, sir. Stop struggling."

The guard's hand was made of iron and snaked around his arm tighter than anything he could remember. With a hard shove, he found himself on the floor and the airlock closed and locked with a hard thud that echoed in his head. His hopes were dashed. Craig was dead. He yelled and screamed in frustration and feebly punched and kicked the mountainous guard that dragged him along, but it did no good.

"Sir! Polanda!"

It was Dodson, his helmet ripped off and staring into Polanda's own with relief and fear sewn into his features. He was sweating and Polanda could feel the stifling heat in his suit now that it had deactivated.

"Come, sir! We must watch the aftermath."

Polanda knew Dodson hated it and so it had the effect of instantly getting through and re-establishing the reign of rational thought. "Yes, yes. Come. Now, goddamn it!" He was frustrated at himself for behaving as he did. Like a child.

_I am a professor. I should bloody well behave like one._

Quickly they ascended and entered the theatre to face the accusatory stares. Some sneered and many were angry, but Polanda paid it no heed and he rushed to flatten himself against the window and watch with a desperate hope still dancing on the edge of his resignation.

Craig was thrashing wildly against his bonds and they slipped free as they were programmed to. Naked and burning, he tore about the room in a rush of unleashed fury, shouting gibberish and bashing anything that was in his way. All of the equipment had retreated from the room, disappearing into the floor or ceiling, leaving only the bed and nothing else. Quickly, Craig set about tearing the bed mattress apart and foam was flying everywhere.

Craig's body was a mass of pumping muscle, his skin pink from the heat and rushing blood and his eyes wide open. Randomly satisfied he had destroyed the bed, he jumped off and looked up to see his audience. Each of them gasped, but Polanda stared down, suddenly puzzled. Craig wasn't staring at them, he was staring at _him._

Craig blinked.

"Dead! Dead!" Craig shouted and howled with laughter. "Deadeadeadeadeadeadead!!!!!"

As though a switch had been flicked off, his crazed façade instantly receded and he smile a relaxed smile. Craig raised a hand and point at him and spoke with a voice devoid of emotion but full with certainty. "You dead."

At once, Craig turned, looked to the airlock and a great explosion rocked the lab like an earthquake. Everyone was thrown off their feet as the floor shook and people screamed.

Polanda quickly regained his composure and looked out through the window again. Dust and smoke choked away the view, but quickly settled and revealed a great gaping hole where the airlock used to be. The lab had been breached and Craig was nowhere to be seen.

**Author's note:**

**Book 3 had so far been written much too quickly and not well enough. It wasn't going where I wanted, so I'm starting it again.**


	51. Place your Bet

**Dead Opportunities: Book 3**

**Ride the Spiral to the End **

**Chapter 2: Place your bet**

"Where is he now?"

"Top-side, sir. He's moving fast due north."

"Is there anything in that direction?"

"Nothing important. He's about to leave the safe zone and will enter Wilderness in a minute or less."

"Fuck me dead."

"Sir?"

"Nothing…"

It had been an exceptionally bad day. Everyone's hopes had been so high, only to be dashed so cruelly. It had been bad enough to lose a test subject with so much promise, but to lose it in such a fashion presented not just a lost opportunity, but a present liability. A madman was running loose on the outside and God only knew what sort of abilities he had. He never liked the idea of supersoldiers designed by scientists. Whatever it was they had in mind always seemed to go wrong.

_Proto-testosterone to enhance stamina, strength and pain tolerance? Yes, but include swollen/exploding testicles, psychosis and brain aneurysms. Gene replacement therapy to implant copied genes from the best soldiers of our time? Uncontrollable mutations that for some reason included swollen testicles again, cancer and genetic degradation._

_Serum this. Vaccine that. _

_Gimme some good old fashioned discipline and guts any day._

_Costs a fuckload less._

_Better yet, use robots._

General Atkins massaged his temples, trying to push the headache away that stubbornly danced behind his eyes. Although Polanda had been given authority by the President to manage the program, Atkins had been sent to oversee and report back his opinions.

He had been hopeful just like everyone else at the time and cast his mind back to the Black Beetle program from years before when Polanda had stamped his credentials firmly into the covert research field. Polanda had developed a field gel based on a flesh eating virus that actually sped up the healing process. It was an invaluable tool and had undoubtedly saved the lives of good soldiers.

Then he had taken the science further and pioneered a gene therapy program that taught the human body how to regrow missing limbs.

_Invaluable stuff. I gotta cut him some slack._

Atkins calmed down and remembered again why he was here. He was an old school man who had been in the army nigh on 40 years and had seen and done a lot. He had seen the development of all sorts of new technologies that helped give the edge in the field. Surgical strikes were his personal favourite, as was the Mech soldier program, but Polanda was a solid ally as well, he believed. Most scientists in the past developed their programs without ever much listening to the soldiers they experimented on. Polanda was different. He actually listened and absorbed what Atkins had to say, even when he was being shouted down as a 'pencil-necked poofter'.

But Polanda had won his trust through sheer results that soldiers found exceedingly useful.

Now, however, that trust being tested.

_What do I report? Do I crucify him? Or back him up?_

"Atkins?"

The old general turned at the familiar voice and smiled a tired, wan smile. Polanda replied in kind with a dejected crease of his lips and sensed his friend's dilemma.

Atkins dug his hands in his pockets and arched his back, feeling it click and move as it dispelled stiffness. "What the situation, Pol? What do you make of this?"

Pol was Atkins' nickname for him. He usually bestowed teasing monikers or codenames to people he trusted. 'Pole Dancer' came to mind, but he didn't have the heart to use it. So Pol it was.

"I expect your superiors and the President will ask you whether I should be disposed of and this project closed down." he said with a slightly mocking but understanding tone.

"Yep. That's why I'm asking what you make of this. Is there anything to salvage here?" Atkins pulled his hands out of his pockets and folded them into a tight knot across his chest. Friend or no friend, Polanda had to answer for his failure. "I mean, c'mon. White Beetle has cost a buttload of time and resources and all we have to show for it are two semi-successful candidates, one madman on the loose and a big hole in the wall said madman seemed to make with only a look."

"Actually, make that two holes. Seems he did the same to the main gate as he left."

"If you want to be pedantic, make that hundreds of holes in those 27 soldiers and personnel he blew apart on his way out."

"Yes, Holeston and Haymach were two of mine. It's such a shame."

Atkins fought back an angry retort. Polanda didn't care that two of his staff were killed. Lowly deckhands that could be replaced. Atkins was more worried about the 25 soldiers killed that were more difficult to replace. "So Pol. What's your take on this?"

Polanda smiled and slowly crossed his arms, choosing his words carefully. "Actually, I think this is an opportunity."

"Say what?" Atkins blurted.

"Think about it. It appears that Craig has new powers. In that sense the serum worked and as you say, he tore through 25 soldiers through his escape. He is obviously very very capable. I think we could do some field testing and allow One and Two the chance to recapture Craig."

Atkins felt like vomiting and his headache intensified. "You've gotta be kidding."

Polanda stood still, absorbing the general's barely contained rage, and continued. "I know you are furious and you probably think I'm being impetuous. But think about it. There's always been the problem that One and Two have been lacking meaningful testing and there's numerous doubts of their abilities. As you know, even with their successes, the Chief of Security and the President have always been uncomfortable with the idea. But I think we have an opportunity to prove their worth. If they succeed, we get Craig back. If they fail, then the project has properly failed and _then_ I can be brought down in a hail of flames."

Atkins tensed as he thought it over. As much as he hated the idea, he also liked it. "If it works, it works. If it fails, it fails."

"Yes."

"You're making one hell of a gamble."

"I know."

"You sure about this?"

Polanda smiled. "I know what One and Two are capable of, even if no one else believes me. If I'm right we're back on track. If I'm wrong, I'll only be doing what my naysayers want anyway in closing down White Beetle."

Atkins relaxed as the logic washed over. "I'll go put in my report. You better be confident as fuck, because to be honest, I don't like your chances."

Polanda turned and looked his tall friend square in the eyes. "I'm betting my life _Fatkins_."

And then he turned and left.

Atkins hated that nickname.

Fatkins.

He smiled and laughed.

XXX

"Where is he now?"

"Two kilometres South East. He's not moving."

"Good. Maintain course to intercept."

The Armoured Personnel Carrier sped through the empty streets quietly, but with enough of a disturbance to rouse local zombies that still roamed the town's brick and concrete carcass. It was only a tiny town, proudly proclaimed to be the 'tidiest town in Maine USA", but now Footbridge was a shadow of it's former pride. Shopfronts were broken and looted, bodies suffering from advanced decay lay strewn across the main road and papers blew in the wind.

Snipers sitting atop the APC shot down the odd zombie whenever they poked their heads out to see the source of the minor commotion. All in all, it was a casual affair and none of the three snipers had needed to reload yet. It was quiet town at the foot of the local mountain range that had once been preoccupied mostly with fishing and tourism.

Quiet spits of gunfire continued intermittently as the driver slowed the bulky vehicle down and parked in the middle of an intersection.

"Alright. One. Two. Deploy."

The sergeant was glad to issue the order and see the peculiar passengers open the rear door and spill out onto the street. Weak rays of afternoon sunshine flooded the cabin and abruptly disappeared as the door closed again. Without hesitation, the APC sped off down the street to double back and leave the town and its new visitors behind.

They crouched low in the shadows of the small buildings around them as they scanned the empty streets and listened intently. One errant zombie, a fat man in jeans and flannelettes long ago stained black with blood ambled down the pavement to nowhere. He stepped with stiff determination, fighting rigor mortis and dead nerves in his pointless journey with every movement.

The two figures in hiding watched him pass and continued to wait, listening.

XX

Polanda and Atkins watched the bank of screens before them with full attention, waiting patiently for the One and Two to proceed. They were cautious as they had trained to be and with their heightened senses, pause either meant they had found something and were listening or they were searching and finding nothing at all.

Atkins always found humour in the idea he could be sitting down in a comfortable arm chair with a hot coffee in hand watching the first person view of a soldier hundreds of kilometres away and give roders in real time. He did so now, but without the coffee. Polanda insisted on standing and leaned right over the shoulder of a comm tech at his station.

Helmet mounted cameras provided a clear view from the two assassins view points, and implanted tracking devices indicated their position via GPS. Atkins eyed a monitor to the left which showed the GPS co-ordinates of something else amidst a schematic of Footbridge town. A small yellow dot glowed persistently to the right of two green dots.

He tensed and spoke into his mic, "He's staying put 800 metres NNE of your position. Proceed at your discretion."

"Copy."

"Copy."

The two green dots moved steadily through the streets on the monitor, closing in. They split up and approached the dot from opposite sides in a pincer formation, until they were nearly on top of the yellow dot.

Atkins was nervous. "Status. Have you located the target?"

XX

One sat ready in the small alcove at the base of a tackle shop, cradling a stun gun in his hands. He looked across the empty street and saw his companion crouched in a similar spot across the way. They were tense, but relaxed.

One listened again, trying to sense their prey, but he could hear and feel nothing.

His senses, like his companion were extremely sensitive, artificially amplified by their helmet array. Each wore a black suit that clung to them much like a wet suit, but reinforced by plexi-carbon plating that moved with them. Flexibility was extremely important when an assassin's primary advantage was stealth and speed.

The serum had also given each astounding physical attributes, but as a side effect their skin was a dark blue. No one liked them. Everyone avoided them like they had the plague, which was true in a sense, but truth be told they preferred it that way.

Whoever they were before was no longer. Both on paper and in terms of memory, One was no longer human and had no past. The serum had erased or buried most of his memory except those that manifested themselves in the physical sense like his training in the SEALS. He was a soldier above all else and had dodged the bullet amidst the pain when the serum had been injected. He had absorbed it, seen the monster within and banished it down through force of will. At least, that is how he remembered it.

Polanda told him his genetics gave him a pre-disposed protection against the serum's 'turning' and so his brother had been drafted into the program. And then there was Two.

Now they were charged with recovering another potential survivor.

Three.

They would bring him in alive, but still they sat scanning the empty street in puzzlement. The GPS tracker indicated Craig was nearby, if not right in front of them, but was nowhere to be seen.

"Manhole. He's in the sewer." Two said into the mic.

"Copy that." One replied.

"Proceed down with caution." Atkin's voice interjected with a whiff of static.

One and Two crept out into the open towards an innocent looking manhole cover, half painted over with a road line marking that appeared to be uninterrupted. They glanced at each other and One reached for the manhole as Two readied his stun gun. A high powered assault rifle was only a split second away if for whatever reason it proved inadequate.

One pulled and lifted the steel cover with seemingly no effort, laying it down quietly on the asphalt like it were paper and Two circled the exposed hole with the stun gun's barrel leading the way down into the dark. Like a spider, he descended the ladder upside down with One right behind him in the gloom. Their helmets automatically detected the fading light and activated night vision, bathing their view in a garish green glow.

Two glided smoothly down and found an open tunnel that diverged left and right. Sweeping the gun back and forth, he ignored the cloying stench and the claustrophobic darkness, focussing on locating his prey. Thankfully, the tunnel was largely bereft of water, having been inactive for so long. It was large for a sewer line, large enough for a man to walk through only slightly hunched over as it acted as the main sewer for the entire area.

Careful eyes darted in all directions and his ears strained for any unnatural noises. Silently, he jumped down onto the slippery brickwork of the tunnel and sensed his brother drop behind him, sweeping across the opposite tunnel.

Two crept down his open tunnel, keeping to the right wall like a lizard. A dark shape against the bricks further down caught his eye and closer inspection revealed it to be a corpse. However, it was broken. It was as though it had been squashed into the wall. Giblets of rotted flesh clung to the space between the bricks like play dough into a mould.

"Follow." Two whispered, and sensed One join up behind him, giving up on the other tunnel.

The tunnel stretched down and disappeared into a dark gloom that even the night vision had difficulty piercing. Still they pressed on into the darkness, sure that Craig was near. Fingers and toes revealed themselves, poking out of the brick work like icicles, the only trace left of the pulverised corpses that had been mashed into the walls.

Two froze on the spot and crouched down, and One followed in kind, trusting his brother's instincts momentarily before he felt it too. Craig was so very near.

One checked behind them, fearful of a trick but saw nothing as Two stared into the dark, willing it to reveal its secrets. Unused to fear, they felt it now like pins and needles. Doggedly, they maintained their composure.

"Bluuuuuueee." A high voice pierced through the silence and echoed as though it came from all around them. It was directionless.

"Stand fast." Atkins' voice reassured them, touched by static.

"Bluuue, bluuue." The voice grew louder still, but gained in clarity and Two saw a fluttering shape ahead. One turned and readied his stun gun as Two fingered the trigger. They had to wait for him to get a little closer to ensure a clean shot and maximum impact.

"Can't catch meeeeeeeeee." The voice trailed off and One and Two broke out into a cramped run to give chase. Fear was gone as the taste of adrenaline kicked in. Like lithe cats they tore down the tunnel, their feet hardly leaving any impression on the slick wet walls.

One broke ahead, leaping around a corner as Two slowed to provide cover, but a sudden cold surge shot up his spine as he saw his brother blown back, almost crashing into him and spilling into the shallow water like a rag doll. A blurred figure emerged from the dark and Two snapped up his stun gun out of reflex, but a shockwave hit his body and the tunnel erupted in a blue flash as his stun gun went off into the ceiling.

The breath was knocked out of him, but he had the presence of mind to see the figure whirl past in his peripheral vision back down the way they came towards the manhole, skipping over his brother's shaking form.

Two got to his feet as quickly as he could, but his legs that normally moved as though light as air felt like stone as he tried to give chase. Leaving his brother behind, Two could barely see a form moving ahead silhouetted against faint streams of light in the distance and knew he was losing ground. In desperation, he loosed another bolt down the tunnel and the resulting flash illuminated the dark just enough to see a naked man slick with filth scaling the ladder to the surface. The shot had missed completely and fried one of the pulverised corpses.

Two pushed on and reached the ladder, but another shockwave thundered through his body and smashed him flat against the ground. His helmet stopped his skull being crushed, but he felt amidst the impact that something snapped in his left leg. Grunting through the pain, he tried to sit up and found he was pinned down beneath a large chunk of broken concrete.

One suddenly emerged from the tunnel and continued the chase up the ladder, his breathing ragged and wet. He was momentarily blinded by the afternoon light, but fortunately it was soft and gave way quickly.

Gun up and ready, he snapped his eyes in all directions trying desperately to locate the target, but the street ahead was filled with zombies running towards him. Slinging the stun gun, he brought his assault rifle to bear and pulled the trigger, falling into a familiar state of concentration. Great barks of fiery lead spilled into the undead mob, splitting heads and limbs apart. Bodies dropped to the ground and were trampled by comrades, only to be dropped themselves by meticulously placed gunfire.

The song was soon over as One emptied his magazine, satisfied the threat was over. Once more he looked for Craig, but found only a soft voice echoing through the deserted broken town.

"Caaan't catch meeeeeeeee."

**Author's note:**

**As I noted before, this is a rewrite of Book 3. Go back and read it (sleep now in the fire) again, because it's very different and I think much better.**

**I'll try to keep the updates coming, but they might be a little slow. Please bear with me.**

**Thanks,**

**Hoobajoo**


	52. Again

**Dead Opportunities: Book 3**

**Ride the Spiral to the End **

**Chapter 3: Again**

"So where does this leave us?"

"You took a gamble. You lost. Time for me to fold you up."

"That's what you are supposed to do aren't you?"

"Yep."

"Are you actually going to do that?"

"…"

"One more chance?"

"Yep."

"Alright. Good."

Polanda shook his friend's hand, a mixture of gratitude and impatience in his eyes and a rubbery tremour in his hand. Atkins always enveloped his hand in his own and squeezed enough to remind him he could crush it if he wanted, and Polanda took in the silent message.

_No fooling, Poledancer. I have a job to do._

He stepped out into the stale and brightly lit corridor and let his steely façade break. He was exhausted and the idea that not only his illustrious career but indeed his life was on the line was unsettling. _One goes with the other as far as I'm concerned._ It was not a feeling he was used to. He was accustomed to dishing out punishment and direction, not receiving.

Swallowing his indignation, he reminded himself Atkins was granting him a large favour. He was a friend.

Stewing over the day's developments, he walked to the medical lab and saw his familiar blue guardians. They looked so much alike with their blue skin, exacerbated by their brotherly similarities, but Polanda could tell one from the other like he knew his hands from his feet.

He stepped through the threshold and felt the tension in the air. One was pacing back and forth around his brother's bed where he lay with a heavy clasp around his leg. Two was not accustomed at all to this kind of paralysis or inactivity, and One didn't like watching his brother's discomfort. Polanda could see at once even before they met his eyes that they longed to jump out the window and pick up the search at once.

_They're animals after all. They hate cages, even if it's for their own good._

Both of them refrained from speaking, letting their shimmering dark eyes bore into him, but Polanda broke the silence.

"You missed him." He said pointlessly.

Neither spoke. Two maintained the silent standoff, but One turned and stared at the caste on his brother's leg. Polanda followed his eyes.

"You both know I invented that." He stared back at Two. Two did not wavering, staring back unblinking and accusing, as though Polanda was to blame. "You should be thankful you will only have to stay in here for another half day and not weeks. A little gratitude should be forthcoming."

"I want to get him." Two muttered.

"Me too." One grumbled.

Polanda huffed and paced about the room, brushing aside curtains in the neighbouring beds. "Well, you had your chance to do so, but you both failed. You are lucky you are not dead. I'm sure Craig could have squashed you both flat with his new psychokenesis. Thankfully, his perverse desire to play seems to be the only reason you are alive. Seems he wants to accommodate you and let you have another try."

The two men relaxed, if only enough to blink and look at each other.

Polanda continued, "Last chance for the both of you. We've still got him tracked and he's in another town. You'll be driven there tomorrow afternoon. If you fail this time, we'll pull the plug on you."

"We will not fail." They said in eerie unison, almost cutting Polanda off.

XX

"Proceed with caution. He's due north, 600 metres."

"Copy."

"Copy."

Atkins and Polanda stepped into the same positions as before, overlooking the bank of screens and readouts intently and sweat gathering in various places indicating nervousness. Polanda still stood rigid and proud, certain his blue hounds were up to the task, but Atkins maintained his doubts and looked on his friend already with a sense of mourning.

Dodson stood at the back of the small assembly, wanting to observe, but not be observed. Never one for the spotlight.

Atkins leaned forward in his chair, "550 metres."

XX

The two shapes flittered silently amongst the scrub through the way forest, combining an ideal mixture of speed and stealth as they closed in. They were both nervous.

Craig it appeared was staying in the same spot again and was playing the same game.

_Hide and seek._

But this time One and Two had a pre-prepared plan, which somewhat countered their nervousness.

At the same time, they were hungry for revenge and angry at their own embarrassment. They were supersoldiers. Unique and unsurpassed. Neither broached the prospect of imperfection without heady amounts of fury and determination. They did not like to lose.

Running side by side, One paired off to the left to flank as Two scanned the tree canopy for a suitable candidate to climb. He quickly saw one, a large long pine tree.

He slung his stun gun over his shoulder and leaped high up into the air. It was a leap that would have left the most able athlete stunned with awe, but Two had no time for petty personal pride and scurried up the tree like a squirrel, already over 20 feet up. Fingertips like metal spikes, honed hard and sharp by the serum dug into the bark and arms and legs of sinewy muscle pumped as his sailed up.

Quickly, he reached the top canopy and his eyes followed a trail of interlocking branches in his desired direction. Running across from branch to branch, leaping and balancing with unnatural ease, he unslung his stun gun.

He couldn't see his brother down below, but he knew where he was. His helmet contained an integrated GPS readout which showed his brother's green dot with his own and the red dot of their target.

Still it remained static.

Two slowed down as it came nearer and looked at the world down the barrel of his gun, amplified for mild night vision in the afternoon sunset.

"In position." One's whisper called into Two mic.

Two quickly found an ideal tangle of branches in the canopy and settled down into a crouch. "Copy that. In position." Although his left leg had been hideously broken only hours before, he comfortably sat on it and tensed it without any discomfort. Nor did he marvel at the ground breaking achievement of it or feel grateful to Polanda for pioneering the therapeutic caste he wore earlier. He had his mind set on the present task and nothing else.

"Mark." One's voice pierced through his mic again and Two waited for the plan to initiate.

Sure enough, the forest shook as a series of thundering explosions sent birds flying into the air and branches tumbling down to the ground. The low dusk was set alight as napalm fire tore into the forest up ahead with a roar.

"Heads up."

Two did not watch the spectacle, rather focussing on a dark figure rushing through the brush towards him far ahead. Down the barrel, he lined up the figure, only a man's head amidst the cover of ferns and trees and pulled the trigger.

A bright weightless surge shot down and engulfed the underbrush with a crackle of electricity that immediately set fire to dry leaves and dead twigs. But ferns and saplings wavering caught his eye and Two lined it up and fired again, sending several bursts down. The pulses smashed into the earth, lighting up the dark even as the napalm fire took hold in the distance.

Still Two saw the red dot on his GPS HUD moving and small plants disturbed by the blurred figure.

"Caaaan't catch meeeee-."

Two gritted his teeth and launch pulse after pulse. Blue shocks of light shimmered off droplets of water in the pine needles, made paler still by the orange glow of the napalm fire, dancing and swirling only to be shattered and blown away as another shard of blue tore the droplet's home apart without mercy.

Two was getting desperate. The target was trailing off away from him and he needed to get a shot home now or lose Craig again. Another blue pulse crackled down into the forest floor and a howling cheer in his ear piece made him pause.

"Target down!"

Two maintained his eyes down the barrel and glanced at his GPS readout to see the red dot had disappeared.

Xx

Atkins and Polanda jumped for joy as the red dot they abhorred disappeared from the screen. The GPS unit embedded in Craig's skin would be fried by the stun gun's charge as it surged through his body, knocking him out. 10,000 volts of nano guided electricity would chase through his body, distributing the charge throughout to ensure enough for incapacitation, and leach remaining charge away into the ground to avoid death.

They screamed and high fived, drunk on success in the moment. Atkins and Polanda hugged each other, thankful the general would not be forced to follow through on his threat.

Even One and Two, already tearing through the trees to locate Craig's still body were elated with victory.

But quickly they found the spot where Craig had been and found nothing besides singed and burning leaves. Craig was nowhere to be found. Polanda's jaw dropped and equal parts hopelessness and fury raked up and down his spine. He screamed for his blue hounds to resume the chase, even through there was no trail to follow and no GPS position to track. Atkin's sighed and fell back heavily into his chair.

Amidst the shock and confusion, no one saw Dodson leave the room and tuck a small device back into his pocket.


	53. Exile

**Dead Opportunities: Book 3**

**Ride the Spiral to the End **

**Author's note: Upon posting this chapter I noticed tha chapter 1 of Book 3 was strangely missing. If you can't make any sense of the story that should be why. Please go back to 'sleep now in the fire' and everything should all make sense.**

**Sorry for the slip up.**

**Hoobajoo**

**Chapter 4: Exile**

"Well Poledancer, this is a fine predicament is it not?"

"How can you joke with me like this? Why are you so relaxed about this? You're supposed to close me down, probably _kill_ me too!"

"Yes. That I do."

"So, you're my friend. Why are you smiling?"

"You'll understand when you die. Men, take him out to the ditch. I'll shoot him and his blue sickos myself."

Polanda was dumbstruck even as the two martial police grabbed him roughly by the arms and hauled him out of the room without a word. Atkins sighed and followed.

Atkins expected more torrid screaming and frantic protests, but his friend only stared at him in disbelief still in the vice like hands of the guards. Even as they waited for the elevator and during the entire trip down to the ground floor, Polanda was silent, gradually working through the shock and resigning himself to death.

It pained Atkins to see him like this, but he also maintained silence and avoided eye contact as best he could. It needed to be done. Polanda and his newly returned pet projects One and Two had failed and he was mandated by the President himself to dispose of them.

The elevator doors opened and the stale air was quickly sucked out and fresher air replaced it. It smelled of grass, freedom and irony. All this time Poldanda had barely stepped outside as he worked determinedly on his White Beetle project. The serum had become his life and he was sure it would work above all other probabilities. And now it meant his death.

In that moment as the sun bore down and the fresh air sailed up his nose, Polanda didn't quite know whether he should continue to kick and scream or enjoy the splendour while it lasted. The soldier's boots continued to crunch on the crushed stone pathway towards his killing ground and the steady rhythm sealed it for him, strangely relaxing like a heartbeat as time slowed down.

It was a strange state of mind he enjoyed both within himself as well as from outside. He rolled his eyes as he watched the most important and memorable parts of his life flash before his eyes and smiled at the cliché of it all.

So he was going to die. I've earned it I suppose, he thought with somewhat happy resignation and fell into step with the guards, relieving them of the struggle. Atkins continued behind them and noted his friend's change in demeanour with sympathy.

Finally, they reached their destination away from other's eyes in a distant corner of the facility near a corner of the concrete wall. It marked the end of the safe zone and the beginning of what was referred to as the wilderness. Pristine Maine forest waited with its share of danger, be it natural or undead.

Atkins waved a hand and the guards turned and left, marching silently and eyes forward until they disappeared.

They were alone.

Atkins unholstered a pistol and pointed at his friend.

"So it has come to this, my friend." Polanda said sadly.

"Yes." Atkins replied.

And Polanda turned away from his friend and stared at the bare concrete wall, waiting for a bullet to pierce the back of his head and end his life.

He closed his eyes.

He licked his lips.

He sighed and closed his eyes tighter.

And he jumped as a hand slapped onto his shoulder.

Atkins walked around and stood in front of him and holstered the pistol away inside his jacket. He smiled wanly and took a deep breath as Polanda waited, confused and hopeful.

"You are supposed to die. For all intents and purposes you will in that you will never again set foot in this place. Your blue hounds One and Two will be the same."

He turned and walked to the wall. He looked for a moment until he found the brick he wanted. With a hard shove, the brick pushed inward and slid aside to reveal a lever which Atkins pulled to reveal the outlines of a doorway amongst the brickwork. It squeaked and groaned, rough brick and concrete scraping against each other as the door opened.

Polanda stood astonished and saw trees and open land beyond and quickly understood.

Atkins dusted his sleeves, quickly peeked through the door for any threats and regarded his friend with a heavy smile.

"I have arranged for a body to be presented to the morgue which will be pronounced as your own. The same with your blue hounds. The good doctor owes me." He licked his lips as Polanda waited patiently. Atkins was glad for it, able to stick to the words he had practised previously. "There's a lumberjack's house about two miles from here if you follow the path. I think you should be safe. It's a large forest. There's supplies in there waiting for you. I will arrange for the blue hounds to join you there after you leave first."

Polanda wanted to say something but was stuck for words. He wanted to cry. He scratched the back of his hand absently and fought back tears.

Atkins interrupted, "Take my pistol."

Polanda stepped forward and reached out to grab it, but was quickly enveloped in a bear hug which squeezed the breath and the tears out of him. Atkins was more stoic and simply patted him on the back roughly.

They pulled apart and Polanda carefully placed the heavy pistol in his coat pocket, unused to such weapons.

They regarded each other once more.

"I'm not sure whether to thank you or not. I could be shot cleanly here or eaten to pieces out there. Why?"

"Because you have a chance out there. There's places that you could hole up in and go unnoticed. Maybe even you could find a settlement. But in any case, I doubt you will die. One and Two will join you remember? They'll protect you."

Polanda's spine straightened. "That's just it. I don't know if they'll stick with me. They want Craig. They'll want to kill him."

"Suppose they do then. It's still better you chance it out there. You're a smart one Poledancer. You're world class remember? You'll think of something. You would do better than me. I'm just big and dumb. You're resourceful."

Polanda looked at his friend, the open doorway and back to his friend again. His mind was made up.

"Thank you."

They shook hands, Polanda's hands nearly crushed in Atkin's as they always were.

"Goodbye."

"Good luck."

Heavy and stiff, he awkwardly stepped through the threshold and instantly felt naked and vulnerable. He turned to try and change Atkins mind, but the door closed with a low, hard thud that echoed through the ground and the still air.

He felt like crying, but he felt the lopsided weight of the pistol in his pocket and willed himself on into the forest.

XX

The journey was slow and tiring, not because it was physically demanding terrain, which it was not, but because he still couldn't shake the idea that he was out in the wilderness where at any moment a zombie could spring out of the bushes and eat him alive. Even if he had time to grab the pistol, he had never fired one before and he doubted he would be any good with it. He tried holding it ready in his hand as he walked, but his shoulder quickly tired and he replaced it back in his pocket.

He should have arrived already he reasoned, but he insisted on walking slowly, placing his footfalls carefully to minimise noise and detection. A man used to being thorough, he believed it was better to arrive late and alive, than risk an encounter.

Soon his neck was stiff as he whipped his eyes back and forth, left and right and over his shoulder, constantly looking for anything untoward. The slightest movements in the underbrush always made him jump, as did anytime his ankles brushed against a stick. Bare branches reached out at him from all sides like thin gnarled fingers, constantly reminding him of the perceived danger. He tried to listen for birds, thinking that if animals were around that zombies therefore could not be, but he heard nothing besides his own heartbeat and the scuffing of his shoes amongst the dry grass and leaves which he often mistook for foreign noises.

The tension gave rise to a sharp headache and he began to feel stiflingly hot and hungry. He felt like throwing up. He wished for the seclusion of his laboratory and the quiet hum of the equipment. All his life had preferred the ambience of a good library or his own bedroom compared the natural world. He hated school camp when he was a child and never took to it when was an adult either. His first girlfriend had been into bushwalking, but that relationship quickly soured.

He always liked to think he would one day die from a heart attack upon discovering some extremely important and prestigious scientific find. Dying in the place he loved so much and spent so much of his time. The notion that he might die in a forest with rotten teeth in his throat and his intestines being pulled out like some magic never ending handkerchief was the furthest juxtaposition he could think of.

He threw up at the thought.

Even during and after he had finished, he was deathly scared the noise would give him away. But he scanned the forest in every direction thrice over and found nothing that was not supposed to be there.

His eyes watered and his throat stung, but he resumed his slow trudge with the same determined care as before.

One foot after another followed and he made slow if steady progress. He veered from the path only to answer the call of nature and urinated against the side of a tree. He zipped himself up and froze to see a figure in the distance staring back at him.

Some instinct identified the threat immediately and screamed at him to run. He did so with all of the effort he could muster as he fixed his eyes where the figure had been. Through the broken view between passing branches and leaves he saw the distinct outline of a human form running in his direction.

"Shit! Shit!" he screamed breathlessly over and over again as he ran scared out of his mind.

_Oh god! It's a zombie! I'm gonna fuckin' die! He's gonna eat me! He's gonna eat me! What the fuckamigonnado?!_

The figure was closing he was certain. He could see it was indeed a man and his skin was dark with the discolouration of decay. Tears welled in his eyes, blurring his vision and his saliva bubbled thick amongst his panicked wailing. He didn't want to look back over his shoulder, rather to focus on the pathway before him and pretend everything was alright even as he sprinted.

It was fortunate that he did as he almost ran into the wall of a log cabin. A distant voice managed to wrestle through the scared cloud in his frantic mind that it must be the lumberjack's cabin Atkins had told him about and he quickly looked for the front door.

He found it only two steps away and thankfully it was not locked. It swung open freely in his cold shaking hands and it closed behind him as he fell to the floor through tangled feet. A heavy thump against the door's pine slats caused him to squeal and jump back up again as the zombie pounded and scratched against the wood. Polanda grabbed the pistol and held it ready in front of him with enough state of mind to notice that the only thing that had prevented the monster spilling through after him was that the door latch had luckily clicked into place when the door had closed behind him. The small piece of luck both amused him and terrified him.

The zombie outside gave up on the door, having found the window next to the front door and quickly smashed the glass. Through the hail, Polanda got his first good look at the fiend and promptly soiled his pants although he didn't notice. He screamed in terror, seeing both the monster and flashes of how he expected it would devour him. The gun in his hand erupted into the ceiling uselessly.

The sudden noise jolted the terrified professor and he fell to the floor again, tripping over his own feet and letting the pistol fly free across the room out of his fingers. He had enough presence of mind again to mostly catch his fall, however, and looked for the gun as the zombie heaved itself through the window opening, ignoring the broken glass in the window frame tearing into its soft rotten belly. Whilst its hand flailed for purchase and its body caught on the glass, it had eyes only for its target. It half screamed and half whispered a gurgling deep burp as it scrabbled and tumbled head over heels into the room.

Polanda recoiled away as it nearly fell on his feet and pinned him down, but he was quickly up on his own feet and saw the gun on the floor near the corner of a tired grey couch. He lunged for it and got his fingers around it before the zombie crashed into him, sending them tumbling onto the floor again through a hallway.

The beast rolled on top of him, but Polanda managed to brace a hand between them both and buy some room to squirm. He felt his fingertips push through the scungy skin of his attacker like soft sponge cake and he felt the urge to retch again. He made an oddly timed mental note that next time this happened he should wear protective latex gloves. Who knew what strange bugs and diseases this thing had, he thought.

The weight of the pistol brought him to the present and he tried to bend his wrist to angle the barrel into the creature's face, but it twisted and writhed and pushed and he missed, sending another bullet into the ceiling.

His braced left hand was coming loose and the weight of his attacker threatened to snap his wrist back as well. The pain was immense and growing and he screamed fearing it would give out. As it was, the zombie's face was only inches from his own even as he kept his eyes on the pistol in his almost free hand.

But to get a good shot, he had to see where the target was. He turned his eyes amidst the slick hands that battered against his jaw and cheeks and looked again at the monster.

He screamed in terror, seeing all of the worst fears in his life coming together in one single enemy. It was a rotund face, bloated by decay almost beyond any recognition that it was or once was a human face at all. Dirty rotting teeth were exposed through missing lips and the protruding bone of the nasal cavity was visible, even the cartilage of the nose tip.

But it was the eyes that terrified him. Dark and soulless and wide open and caught in a blood drunk rage. He knew of the phrase 'the windows are the eyes to the soul', but there was no soul to look upon, and no emotion other than an insatiable hunger.

Coagulated clumps of blood burped out from the monster's snapping mouth and almost landed in his eyes and open mouth. He knew that if he let any of it into either, he would be dead anyway and renewed his efforts to wedge the pistol in and fire.

Amidst the fear and panic, he found something inside open up and a new strength in his tiring left hand lifted the creature up just enough for the gun to poke into the open maw. The creature bit down on the metal, thinking it had something to eat, but Polanda gave himself just enough time to enjoy the coming victory with a smirk and pulled the trigger.

He winced at the sharp crack of the discharge and closed up his eyes and mouth in anticipation of the coming blood splatter. Cold slimy clumps peppered his face and the zombie's forehead butted into his chin. The monster lay still on top of him and slowly started to slide off onto the floor, slipping on it's own putrescence.

Polanda lay still for what seemed a long time, waiting for the aftermath to settle. Finally he opened his eyes, and saw the splattered gore that painted the floor and the cabin's walls. Dark flecks of gore amidst faded brown wallpaper. He pushed away from the dead zombie, stumbling to his feet only to fall down again on his backside.

He wanted to cry, but a surge of excitement made him laugh. The joy of having survived was intoxicating. He had quite literally stared death in the face and had enough spine to blow it away. His laughter filled the small cabin, drifted out the broken window and was taken away by the pristine forest wind.

A bird fluttered down onto a nearby branch amongst the pine needles outside, heard the laughter and chirped.

Some further distance away, One and Two also heard it and gave it no further mind.


	54. Plan

**Dead Opportunities: Book 3**

**Ride the Spiral to the End **

**Chapter 5: Plan**

Not long after the laughter started, it flip around into a tired melancholy and finally to the same nervous terror again. Polanda sat for a long time, hours it seemed in the corner of the cabin staring at the corpse in a strange state of meditative fear. He kept his eyes on it, thoughts looping around on themselves, tying each other in knots only to slip free again to repeat the process pointlessly.

He was in shock.

A long time passed and he found himself on the couch. Confused at first, he soon deduced that he must have fallen asleep. Instantly he was awestruck at his own negligence. All memory of his heroism of the previous day was forgotten.

He was alone and afraid and tired again.

And hungry,

Starving.

His methodical mind remembered the supplies that Atkins had promised and he quietly snuck about the cabin to find them. It was the first time he had actually paid attention to his surroundings.

It was a cosy place that would not be out of place being used as a romantic getaway. Sure enough it was secluded, however the dead body on the floor and the blood splatter all over everywhere else negated that feeling somewhat. It was equipped with relatively comfortable if not functional furniture and fittings and a large hearth for a log fire.

It obviously had not been used for a long time given the amount of dust that had settled on all sorts of surfaces. It would have smelled musty were it not for the stink of the corpse still on the lounge room floor.

Shaky, he stepped into the kitchen and found a small khaki camouflage backpack sitting on the bench. He tried to lift it and found it was quite heavy and packed tightly.

Amongst the variety of side pockets as well as the main contents, he found dried food supplies, bottles of sealed water and various camping equipment. Further, he found a similar pistol to the one Atkins gave him with several magazines of ammunition that he stared at with a strange fascination and put back inside.

He slung the backpack on and tested the weight. It didn't feel nearly as heavy now, sitting rather comfortably on his shoulders and the small of his back. He sought then and there to set off, but felt the need to go to the toilet. To his dismay, he found out just how badly he had soiled himself the day before during the fight.

A great stain filled his crotch and trailed down both legs of his pants. It itched and rubbed terribly. Searching through the cabin, maintaining his methodical care to stay hidden, he found clothes in a bedroom cupboard, consisting mainly of work wear and basic casual wear. He smirked to see there was not a single brand of note. Nothing designer. But he was grateful for the functional selection on offer although everything within was too large. Even so, he grabbed the smallest clothes he could find, cleaned himself up and dressed in some worn jeans, long sleeve white T shirt and khaki canvas jacket. It was bulky, but the clothes were tough. He hoped they would provide some rudimentary protection.

All of the shoes were steel toed work boots and much too large, so he kept his urine soaked incumbents and sat down to a rough breakfast in the kitchen.

The food was largely army issue rations that needed to be boiled, but he opted for ready to go beef and vegetable sticks and water. It was tough, but he liked it. The repetition of the chewing forced him to take his time and allowed him to think.

Once more he thought about the encounter yesterday, but this time approached it calmly and methodically broke down the series of events. He was panicked and lucky he thought and concluded that by rights he really should be dead. But he wasn't and resolved to tackle the next encounter with more bravery and a steadier hand. Nevertheless, he still resolved that he would rather be overly careful and avoid a fight in the first place. Prevention was better than a cure, he knew as a doctor.

But the question posed was where to go next. Rummaging through the pack, he found a side pocket with a map inside and looked it over. The next town was "Long Hope" almost 11 miles away to the south.

Swallowing down the last of his meal, he slung the backpack on and walked out the door, with a fresh head and some measure of self belief. Nevertheless, he paused outside and scanned the scenery many times over before he stepped back onto the path.

Nothing but calm forest. Droplets hovered on the tips of branches and leaves, flowers here and there sat half opened for the morning sun yet to properly appear and the chirp of birds broke the meager silence.

The birds made him feel much better.

He walked a little faster, with the slightest hint of a spring in his step.

XX

The man on the table was regarded as a dead man on paper. At least he would be back in the days prior to the zombie outbreak when a government existed with a population to govern. A serial rapist and convicted murderer, he was supposedly given a lethal injection over six months ago.

Dodson presided over the unconscious brute and looked over at his assistant, savoring the ironic gesture. He looked where he used to stand from where Polanda always had at the head of the table and in control.

He had been long enough the uncredited underling, he had finally decided. It had been numerous years in the professor's shadow either working directly beside him or simply by working in the same field. Always passed over.

But one time working late on the serum, he found the breakthrough they had been looking for. Previously, before the violent testing, the serum was even more unstable and generally prompted death within seconds on humans. Monkeys, rats and pigs fared much better, enduring through the process even if they suffered psychosis. Nevertheless, it was the one time in his life when he could swear he saw a pig do the closest thing to flying. The serum allowed it to jump nearly 8 feet in the air. Enough easily to jump over him. It was quickly escorted back into its cage where it tried to push itself through the mesh bars and made it half way through before it expired in a bloody mess, not unlike pushing chocolate spread through the holes of a wheat biscuit.

Later, he found an unstable dominant gene in the dead pig's blood work, which seemed to be the cause of their failure. It was replaced a more benign recessive gene.

He tested another pig and it seemed to behave relatively normally. It didn't attack or antagonize its brethren in the pig pen, nor did it commit self harm. It happily settled down by the trough and dug in like all the others after having jumped just as high as the subject Dodson privately referred to as 'spaghetti pig'..

He tested the others, gorillas, cats, dogs, mice and each one exhibited the same stable behaviors in spite of their new found abilities.

And so, after basking in the private glory of the discovery, Dodson gathered all the tapes and data sticks and erased them all. He then sat down, and set about inserting hidden genes he knew would tip the serum back into imbalance. Polanda never found them.

One and Two were a hiccup in the plan, somehow circumventing the serum's effects and retaining their sanity. Their particular genetic make up superseded the sabotaged genes in some bizarre way, but they were the only successful candidates.

And now they were gone, Polanda too.

It was easy then to go back and remove the genes, but he maintained the masquerade of intensive study and staged failures before acting out the sudden discovery and touting the perfect serum to Atkins.

By all personal accounts, Dodson had a clear conscience. After all, who was he really defrauding? Polanda? Certainly not he reasoned. If Polanda was as good as he trumpeted himself to be he should have seen through the sabotaged genes and found the answer anyway.

But no. He had failed.

Dodson had merely rearranged events such that he would ensure the reward would be duly attributed to himself, as it should be.

What would have happened if Dodson had 'done the right thing?' Polanda would have ostracized him and claimed the discovery as his own, Dodson was sure. He may even have arranged for Dodson to meet an unfortunate accident or some other nefarious scheme. Anything to ensure Polanda reigned supreme.

The new professor king smiled, reveling quietly in the fruits of his scheming and gestured to his assistant.

"Begin."

The assistant was new, someone Dodson had never heard of before, nor worked with. A mere baby by comparison. He was all that was required, though. Dodson was there to do all the thinking. He was merely there to press buttons, carry heavy things, take notes and get him coffee. Not that Dodson abused the young man. As was his disposition, he always treated him with hidden respect and courtesy. Another difference to his former boss. Polanda was never above throwing a coffee into an intern's face because it was too hot or not sweet enough.

With nervous but now practiced hands, the assistant removed the stopper from the IV feed and everyone, including the same audience of VIP's in the auditorium in the ceiling from when Craig escaped' watched the blue liquid snake its way down into the patient's arm.

Slow and steady.

"112."

"Hold steady."

The line on the monitor representing the subject's heartbeat climbed steadily, but all was as Dodson was expecting to see. It needed to get to between 225 and 230 and stay there. Anymore than that signified the brain's fall into psychosis. Passing over the jargon and technical reasoning of why these particular numbers were so significant, it essentially boiled down to the fact that the brain couldn't support blood pressure beyond that mark and suffered hundreds of tiny aneurysms. It didn't simply pop like a balloon, but sprouted holes everywhere, triggering a psychotic euphoria, not unlike the sensation of warmth when a person is on the verge of death from hypothermia.

And like a man dying of cold who removes their clothes, the subject erupts in an angry rage when they are about die from over activity.

It was difficult for Dodson to watch each of the violent displays whenever a subject overloaded on the serum. But it was necessary. Besides, he knew that each of the subjects used were much like the patient now in front of him. Convicted felons. Leeches. Perverts. Rapists.

Garbage.

Useful.

"180. Climbing steady."

For the first time however, he wondered on exactly what would happen if the serum worked. There was no way a man like the brute before him would be useful in anyway other than to experiment on. Surely he would need to be confined, never to be released. He certainly wasn't a soldier. Atkins wouldn't want him on the front lines.

Polanda would simply have disposed of him when his immediate use finished. Probably gassed in his sleep. Or perhaps gassed when he was awake. After all, it would be useful to observe the subject's resistance to the deadly gas in one final experiment of stamina.

But Dodson hated the idea of killing needlessly. Although he despised the man in front of him and did not even care to know his name, he was always conscious of the worth of human life and the need to preserve it. After all, wasn't this the whole point of this experiment? Better soldiers to protect the living?

"210. Still steady."

The serum produced many symptoms, including a vastly increased rate of healing. Perhaps it would somehow cure the man's criminal disposition? A long shot, but perhaps possible. Why not?

And so he decided. The patient, would be confined and studied and given the chance to function. He would be given the chance to be a human being again. No longer a caged dog.

"226. In the turning zone. Serum withdrawn. Heart rate stable. Holding."

Dodson looked down into the patient's face and marveled at how calm the man appeared compared to those that had died before him. He simply looked asleep.

Peaceful.

But then he opened his eyes and stared right into Dodson's.

Dodson had just enough time flinch away slightly before he heard a voice in his head.

"Hello."

The patient continued to stare back up at him and smiled.

A warm smile.

Dodson was breathless. The experiment was a success.

The men above him in the amphitheatre shouted congratulations and shook each other's hands. Already they discussed the myriad of different applications for the serum and how much money it would make them. They buzzed around each other like bees, but in the middle Atkins stood, stared down at the scene and scratched his knuckles.

He was thinking of his friend and was confident. Pole Dancer was resourceful and smart, even if he was eccentric and inexperienced.

He was also thinking of what the experiment's success meant and what it could be used for, like those around him. But unlike those around him, he didn't feel like celebrating.

He felt nervous.


	55. Staying Alive

**Dead Opportunities: Book 3**

**Ride the Spiral to the End **

**Chapter 6: Staying Alive**

The journey thus far had been pleasant and grew more so with every step unmolested by stray members of the undead. Trees caught within the grip of autumn surrounded him with a luscious mix of colours as though a great bucket of paint had been upended from the heavens.

As far as the eye could see, natural forest sprung forth and kept going past the horizon. It was wide and open and free. It even felt safe.

As much as Polanda has resolved that he would continue to be fastidiously careful and observant, the seduction of his natural setting seemed to leech through and disarm. It did so quite literally when he gave up and slung the pistol into a side pocket of the back pack so as to relieve tired arms.

He expected to not enjoy the southward trek, picturing himself with muddy shoes and sneezing with hay fever. His legs were expected to tire quickly and the undead to pounce when he sat down to rest. If anything, the squelch of his shoes was a comforting rhythm that only made him feel like walking faster. His heart was beating at a rapid but comfortable pace and the sweat on his brow cooled him adequately in the mid morning breeze.

It couldn't have been any more different to the confines of his office or the sterility of the labs he had spent such a large majority of his life in. As much as he loved his work and treasured all of the moments he spent hunched over a desk, he suddenly wondered where the outdoors had been all his life.

_Stop it._

He chastised himself. He was Professor Polanda. The best scientist in the world. Possibly ever, he knew.

As much as people thought him arrogant or self important, Polanda was proud of it, noting that it was not so much a negative trait but one of the core reasons he soared so high.

"You can't reach the heavens whilst looking at your shoes" was one of his favourite sayings. He was the best in the world because he wanted to be. Those that didn't believe him either thought too much of themselves or didn't know who they were dealing with.

Dodson was able enough, but never had the nerve to strive without stepping on other people's toes. He always wanted to make an omelette with all of his eggs intact. He was too bloody nice.

_He's probably pissing in his shoes getting the hard word from Atkins._

_Yeah, Fatkins will sort him out._

Before he even realised it, Polanda had his pistol back in his hands and his pace slowed.

_That's better. You didn't start walking to enjoy the trip did you?. This isn't a school field trip. This is survival. Keep your mind on the job_

The trees began to thin he realised and noticed further ahead that a crude trail was marked into the ground. Whilst constantly checking his surroundings, he proceeded onward and met the track.

It curved from the east and headed south, exactly the direction he was already heading. Checking quickly on his map, he was relieved to see it confirmed via a dotted blue line and led directly to Long Hope, of which the outskirts was only a kilometre away or less now.

Keeping the pistol locked in two hands in front of him, with the safety thoroughly checked to be off, Polanda continued on down the path expecting trouble. Before long he came upon a rusted carcass of a long dead car. Dead before the zombie plague. There was nothing of value inside.

Soon after that he came upon a small log cabin, much like the one left behind and approached staring down the pistol's sights. However, a careful inspection inside and all around the cabin's perimeter revealed it to be abandoned. The cabin's furniture had been left scattered and various items of rubbish littered the floor. Small items of food rotted in the dusty kitchen and the bedroom cupboards were nearly devoid of clothes.

Whoever left this cabin behind had consciously fled, taking anything of value. It was actually quite reassuring. Like the car, there was nothing of real value to be found and like the cabin, the shoes left behind were all too big.

Off he trundled again down the path which diverged into two lanes, congruous with a crude driveway. The grass grew higher now as the forest was left behind, bird calls replaced with the grate of cicadas. His careful nature was glad for the grass as it made less noise underfoot compared to dry fallen leaves and twigs.

Another house came into view which was similarly empty and then several more. Carefully he snuck passed the basic structures until the path diverged at a T junction on the edge of a drooping hillside. Below through a row of pine trees he saw the town of Long Hope proper.

It seemed a cosy place from his elevated vantage point (naturally Polanda was also hiding behind a particularly large and sturdy looking boulder). Many of the houses were log cabins much like those he had passed, only larger. Cars were parked neatly in the street and birds swooped amongst the peaceful laneways cawing to each other.

He could see the main street arcing through the centre of town and shopfronts which he had expected to be broken were pristine and intact. It was as if everyone had done the unthinkable and evacuated in an orderly fashion without any good old fashioned looting.

Suspicious, Polanda carefully climbed down the hill with the pistol still up and ready to fire. He quickly reached the bottom and jumped over a small stream to reach the corner of the closest house. Chancing a look around the corner up the street he saw nothing. Absolutely nothing seem out of place besides the obvious lack of activity.

His heart which was comfortably quick during his trek was pounding now and his hands were shaking. The rational part of his mind was telling him it was natural fear and that he should tolerate it as best he could. Instinct, which he was loathe to listen to, said the nervousness was warranted. He ignored it.

He stepped out into the street, albeit hugging the curb, and started creeping down the empty space. His gun swept left to right, covering open doors that led to darkness and overgrown bushes. His shoes grated against the asphalt with every careful step, but try as he might it was all he could hear.

All too quickly he reached the end of the street and the main strip presented itself. Various shops for crafts, clothes and camping gear were within immediate sight and all intact. Their glass fronts still bore various sale stickers and were devoid of blemish.

Taking cover beside parked cars along the curb he proceeded down the main street towards a supermarket, whose sign mounted on a pole dwarfed all else. A stray query as to why such prime advertising real estate was for a supermarket and not a KFC or a McDonalds caused him to smile, but it was quickly dismissed with due private admonishment. Still moving from car to car, he eventually made it to the car park and knelt down by the bonnet of an out of place looking BMW near the market's entrance.

Scanning the front windows he quickly saw what he was looking for.

A great blood stain wiped across a window proclaiming a sale on rump steak caused the hairs on his neck and forearms to stand up. His rational reminded mind to him to be on his best and most alert behaviour, finally agreeing with his instinct. However, his instinct quietly suggested he leave immediately.

Instead he adjusted his grip on the pistol and left the sanctuary of the parked cars towards the front doors.

Crouching down by a bay of parked trolleys, he craned his neck and snuck a peek inside the market. Numerous aisles sat in disarray, produce and other items strewn about on the floor amidst a chaos of errantly parked trolleys. Squinting, he tried to peer through the gloom for movement and found none.

He rose from stiff legs to creep inside, but a sharp urgency at his bowels told him to turn around.

An angry gurgle caused him to jump before a zombie lunged at him from behind.

His rational mind and instinct once again co-operated and steadied his hands enough not to let off a barrage of useless gun fire high into the air, rather guiding him away in his own desperate lunge. It was enough for an initial dodge as the lumbering monster fell face first into the asphalt, but quickly recovered, staring at him with hungry white eyes. It was a pitiful thing, the remnants of a tourist camper by the looks of its ragged clothes. It even had a money belt strapped around the waist which bled coins onto the pavement.

This was now the second time he had encountered a free zombie on his own and despite his best attempts, panic was getting the better of him as he scrambled away. His shoes were still soaked from his own piss and mud and slipped numerous times as the met the linoleum floor inside the market. The zombie had no such difficulty as it growled and followed on all fours like a dog, closing very quickly.

Polanda screamed and twisted, trying to get a handhold on something to haul himself to his feet, but only succeeded in banging his head on a metal stand.

He was stunned for the barest of seconds, but it was enough for the zombie to catch up and latch onto his feet. It then started hauling itself up his legs as though climbing a ladder and broken finger nails dug into his thick jacket.

It was enough for Polanda to shrug off the dizzying pain and bring the pistol to bear. Quickly and efficiently, he shoved the barrel into the zombie's forehead, closed his eyes and anticipated the splatter as the trigger was pulled.

The shot was loud and sharp and echoed within the dead market like a cut off scream. Polanda felt the dead weight of the monster suddenly fall on his lap and he knew it was dead. His ears rang and for a moment gravity seemed to disappear. He tried to push the monster away and get to his feet, but his arms had no strength. They felt like rubber.

It seemed an eternity, long enough for Polanda to fixate upon the amount of thick blood and gore too congealed to properly soak his jacket before feeling returned and realisation dawned. A gunshot made noise and noise attracted the undead.

Panic rose as quickly as he did himself to his feet and the pistol was once again up in front of him held by arms made as rigid as steel by adrenaline. In jerky movements he scanned all around him, paranoia finding movement where there was none.

He chanced a moment to hope all was well after all when he saw a blurred cloud swarm through the car park towards him, weaving in and around cars as well as over them.

He wasn't sure which direction he had picked exactly, but he had enough to presence of mind to at least run. Hurdling over rubbish and sidestepping trolleys he headed to the back of the store through the deli. The back stores were dark, both from lack of lighting as well as the cold concrete decorum. No feng shui or bright colours inspired by consumer psychology were needed here.

Again picking a seemingly random direction he darted off, hoping zombies were only behind him and not hiding somewhere amongst the crates of spoiling food around him. Panic danced through his heart and his stomach turned like bad meal. Small windows overhead provided the merest illumination, only enough to highlight benign nothings that flittered by as he ran for his life.

Turning corners and bumping into boxes like a pinball, he smashed his hand on what felt like a doorknob and stopped. Thankfully, the door was open and he pushed through, closing and locking the door behind him with a disconcertingly weak sounding click.

He stood there, staring at the door and willing it to suddenly become solid steel and fuse shut, never to open again. Only then did he even think to check the room he found himself in and saw it was a small storeroom, lit only by a small rectangular window by the ceiling. Boxes and various items of equipment lined the walls, stacked either hurriedly or lazily by the looks of it. Dust danced in the meagre light, swirling in on itself playfully.

His blood was gushing and sweat poured down his boiling face, and turned to ice the instant he realised he had trapped himself.

_Stupid old man!_

The door he came through was the only way out. Freezing on the spot, he listened for activity and at first heard only his own heart beating in his ears and his breath heaving. It seemed like whole minutes passed, but it was only a few seconds before he heard the scuff of footsteps and obstacles being shoved aside heavily.

His hands shook and the pistol weighed like a million kilograms in his hands. The gun barrel danced up and down uncontrollably as he helplessly stared at the door maintain its plywood self and refuse to morph into an impenetrable barricade.

Rough grunts peppered through, seemingly just outside and faded away in an instant.

They were right outside, hundreds of them by the sounds of it.

_They don't know I'm here._

_How long before they figure it out?_

The heavy pistol suddenly seemed like a useless toy as he pictured the swarm spill through the door like it was made of paper. In a matter of seconds they would surround and crush him. They would tear and push amongst themselves to kill him. Then they would fight each other to devour his pathetic body.

Doctor Polanda, the world's best scientist was an old dead man.

His instinct screamed at him uselessly to do something bizarre like become invisible and intangible and fly away. His rational mind calmly told him his chances were zero and the pistol's best use would be to empty his brains on the floor.

Instinct ferociously rebutted that teleporting to another dimension would be a better idea.

_Foolish old man._

"Hey you!"

_What?_

"Hey!" A determined voice whispered from nowhere.

Polanda turned, looking for the voice as frayed nerves almost mistook it for a talking zombie and fired the pistol at it.

"Up here! The window."

Polanda found the voice's owner, a lovely looking young woman with the bluest eyes he had ever seen. She was threading herself awkwardly through the small window, long red hair cascading down like a blood waterfall. At least he supposed in his desperation. He felt the strange compulsion to ask the voice's owner to blow his brains out for him.

"Move!" The woman half yelled half whispered in a grated anger.

A heavy thump against the door brought him to his senses, reminding him of the enormity of the danger only metres away and the potential salvation just as close. The door buckled and chipped as a series of blows rained down. They knew he was inside.

Polanda moved fast, climbing up the boxes which buckled immediately and sent him spilling back on the floor and landing on something soft.

And moving.

Strong arms wrapped themselves around him, pinning his hands and nuzzling into his shoulder like an over-eager lover.

Fear gripped and sent adrenaline sprinting through his veins, summoning the strength to pull free and topple forward out of the mysterious grip. Falling through another pile of boxes, he clumsily brought the pistol to bear quickly enough to line up the black face of a zombie. For an instant he saw it was a gruesome and pitiful thing, almost unrecognisable as once human. Its eyes were useless pits of black and lips long gone unable to hide brown jaws bared wide.

The pistol cracked and the blind beast was swallowed up amongst the broken cardboard. Likely it had been sitting blind and deaf in the corner he had fallen and had sprung like a venus trap

"C'mon!"

The girl had a hand hanging down waiting for him to grasp, but it took a moment to untangle his legs.

A mangled fist broke through the door and Polanda heard again the girl's frantic cry to hurry. Finally Polanda got to his feet as the fist's owner butted its head through and saw him. Teeth parted and emitted a deep primal scream as the frenzied attack on the door resumed tenfold.

Polanda jumped and his hand was nearly crushed in the girl's own. For such delicate looking features he was hauled up as though he weighed a trifle. She cared not that he smacked his forehead on the way up or that broken glass cut into his jeans. Nor did he as uninterrupted sunlight stung his eyes in glorious pain.

Without pause or regard for politeness he was shoved forward into the arms of another who half shoved and half carried him away.

Gunshots rang out all around him like unbridled war and amidst his fatigue thought to fire his own to join in and appear to help, but found he had lost the pistol altogether somehow.

The sun seemed impossibly bright and he felt so lightheaded that he wondered if he was in fact upside down and spinning on a carnival ride. It was all he could muster to keep his legs moving in a motion as closely related to running as he could and tag along with the rough hands that guided him.

Unknown voices shouted all around him, but he couldn't hear the blue eyed redhead amongst it. He tried to look for her, scanning amidst the chaos for those ocean blue eyes.

His knees smashed into something and cause him to cry out in pain.

"Jesus Christ, get in!"

A rough hand shoved him back and the air was wrenched out of his lungs. He tried to apologise for whatever he did but only found himself wheezing pathetically.

"Go go go!"

An entirely alien feeling of sideways motion made him feel like vomiting and he did so, retching painfully whilst also trying to suck breath into his burning lungs. It finally subsided, but left his head swimming. Whatever he was lying on vibrated with the thrum of an engine.

He was in a car.

"Who are you?" Someone shouted at him. It wasn't blue eyes.

He tried to enquire where she was, but passed out instead, utterly exhausted.

**Author's note: Sorry for the long delay, but I've had writer's block as well as been very busy with family and work.**

**I'll try to keep things moving, but always appreciative of feedback.**

**I know it's been ages since Craig has seen some story space, but he's coming I promise.**

**Thanks for your patience and loyalty.**

**Please let me know what you think.**

**Hoobajoo**


	56. Old Acquaintance

**Dead Opportunities: Book 3**

**Ride the Spiral to the End **

**Chapter 7: Old acquaintance **

"Dangerous and stupid. That's what it was."

"Yeah, anyone worth their salt knows not to do that."

"So who is this guy?"

"Don't you know?"

"Why? Am I supposed to? Do you?"

"Yeah!"

"Really?"

"Of course."

"So who is he?"

"You really wanna know who he is?"

"Yes!"

"OK, I'll tell you……"

"C'mon!"

"OK, OK. His name is 'fucked if I know.'"

"What?"

"Fucked if I know."

"Fartik Inoh?"

"Huh?"

"Who's Fartik Inoh?"

"Jesus Christ you're slow Trevor."

"But-"

"Pipe down, he's waking up."  
The voices swirled in a black ether, muddled by semi-wakefulness. He tried to open his eyes, but they were crusted shut. A distant feeling of consciousness gnawed, spreading warmth and revealing distant fingers and toes. His heart rate quickened, sending pins and needles to all sorts of elsewhere places until he had the focus to force open his crusted eyes and blink uncomfortably.

A face loomed before him, blurred beyond recognition.

"You're name is Fartik Inoh. You're in a safe pl-"

The face was abruptly shoved aside.

"Trevor, shut the hell up! Go stand in the corner."

The man's voice was loud and sharp. It caused Polanda's headache to scream in waves.

However, enough time had passed for Polanda's vision to sharpen. He could see the voice's owner clearly and what he presumed was Trevor sulking in the corner, facing the wall like a schoolboy dunce. The face before him was a surprise as it was that a young teenager. Pimpled and taut, his eyes shone with a weary darkness. The intensity in the young boy's eyes and the way he set his jaw firmly unsettled Polanda. He wasn't quite sure if he was awake proper and that this boy was actually a man disguised by his imagination as a boy.

The boy continued to stare into Polanda's eyes and Polanda looked away. The boy smiled and backed off, allowing Polanda a chance to quickly survey his surrounds. He was seated on a couch which was deep and worn such that he slouched quite comfortably. The room appeared somewhat dark and confined, enclosed without natural light via a window or open door. It left Polanda wondering whether he was even below ground. It was cool enough and no breeze caressed his skin.

A single bright light globe dangled from a frayed wire overhead casting shadows that mixed well with gaudy flower wallpaper that looked dirty like rust. It seemed a mix between a home's lounge room and a corporate office and was neither, leaving him feeling in some sort of limbo, like a prisoner.

"What is you name?" The boy asked, curtly much as a warden might address a convict.

Polanda was nervous and said aloud the first name that popped into his pounding head. "Craig." Although it came out at first as a cough and he had to repeat himself several times until it was understood.

"Craig what?"

"Atkins." Again Polanda said aloud the first name he thought of.

"Atkins, huh?"

"Yes. My friends called me Fatkins at school."

Several sources of mild laughter echoed from behind, from people he couldn't see. The boy in front of him smirked.

"I don't get it." Trevor whined, turning from his corner to reveal himself a young boy on the cusp of teenager's years as well. His face was softer than the other boy's. More innocent and less suspicious.

"Trevor, just get the fuck out, OK? Go man the fence."

Trevor's puzzlement turned to displeasure.

"Now." He said again, firmly, almost yelling and Trevor weaselled his way out of view. The click of a door closing signalled his departure.

The boy once more addressed him, staring intently into Polanda eyes as before. He leaned forward, almost touching nose to nose. Polanda tried to focus his eyes on the man, but the effort of crossing his eyes amplified his headache further and he looked away again.

The boy smirked once more, seemingly content that he had adequately intimidated his subject.

"I am Clark, son of Jor-El."

As much as Polanda's head hurt to concentrate, he was still sharp enough to see the lie. Whether it was a joke or a genuine lie he wasn't sure. Polanda managed a meagre grin.

"In that case, I am General Zod. Kneel before Zod."

The boy smirked as other voices unseen from behind giggled.

"I don't see you wearing no garbage bag, Zod."

"Well, Jor-el was Marlon Brando. Last I heard, Marlon was fat and old."

"You saw Trevor. He's a fatty. And you're old."

"And you're very young. Are you the leader here?"

The boy smirked again, apparently happy with the presumption. "Yes."

"Do you have a real name, O omnipotent Caesar?"

The boy's eyebrow's creased. _Dumb kid's probably a bum. Never studied Shakespeare at school. If he ever went._ Polanda thought to himself.

The boy puffed his chest like a bird on display and put his hands on his hips, obviously meant to cut an imposing figure. But the demands of puberty betrayed the lack of meat on his bones and showed the presumed king to be only a child.

Nevertheless, the child stepped forward and smacked Polanda across the face, startling him immeasurably. It didn't hurt, but severely reminded Polanda the child was probably stronger than him and unseen friends lurked behind. He had to tread more carefully.

The boy spoke, angry. His lips pouted and his eyebrows creased in overblown anger. "Don't you sass me you old piece of shit. I run this place and you were trespassing. We don't need you and I'll fuck you up. You got me, bro?"

"Yes, bro." Polanda said a conciliatory as he could manage as his cheeks stung with warmth.

The boy slapped him again before Polanda could get his arms up. "Don't you 'bro' me, old fuck!"

The confrontation was cut short as the door flung open with a thud to reveal the red haired girl from the supermarket. Polanda was glad to see her and even more happy to see the way she glowered at the boy. The boy shrank.

Polanda was pleasantly surprised to see the red haired girl move with a heavy strength as she stomped over and cuffed him across the back of his head.

"Cutter, you dumb shit! You don't do nothing without my say so."  
"Ow. Ow!" Cutter squealed, trying to swat the assault away and cowered before the girl's obvious height advantage.

"Go stand in the corner and shut your mouth."

Cutter retreated, seemingly happy to stand in the same corner Trevor had been temporarily banished to. Yet still he glared at Polanda from his new station.

Polanda's elation as the girl turn to regard him was short lived as she strode forward and slapped him as well. "That's for being so fucking stupid. I risked my life to save you. What the fuck were you doing?"

"Sorry." Polanda spluttered, unable to think.

"Who are you?" she demanded.

"Craig-" Polanda stuttered.

"Where you from? What are you doing here?"

Polanda felt his fingers stiffen into fists and anger rose from his gut. He suddenly felt so stupid at the idea someone as senior and accomplished as himself was being slapped and bossed around by children. He shoved the girl away and rose to his feet. Surprise was evident on her face, freckles shining like the dots from exclamation marks.

Polanda's sharp mind quickly balanced up the value of various answers and stories and decided to mix some truth and lies together.

He spoke evenly and firmly. "My name is Craig Atkins. How about I give you my story about who I am and what I was doing if you tell me where I am and who you all are?"

Polanda turned and finally saw the previously unseen behind him. His shadow cast across them, all young boys and girls like Cutter who cowered pitifully. They were children playing games, it appeared. Scared.

Polanda turned back to the red haired girl, expecting her to erupt in anger, but instead met his eyes with a cool intelligence that he found reassuring. "My name is Strap. We're survivors. You're in a basement in the town of Short Hope about 5 or 6 miles from Long Hope where we found you. We were running a patrol nearby and found you. We brought you back here."

"You're all children?" Polanda asked.

"Yes. Youngest is 2 and I'm the oldest. Most kids here are only kids. Barely even teenagers."

"OK." Polanda said simply. "So am I a prisoner?"

"Well, how about we hear your story first and then we'll decide. Shotty?"

Polanda heard the very distinct click-clack of a pump action shot gun from behind him.

"Shotty there's got a shotgun pointed at the back of you're head. We might be kids, but we're not little kids if you get me. We've survived because we fight mean, dirty and smart. We know how to take care of ourselves, so not fucking around." She said with her jaw clenched, which then softened and she gestured kindly for Polanda resume his seat on the couch. She sat herself on the edge of a table. "So you know who we are, who are you and what's your story?"

Polanda eyed the girl, weighing his options and started quickly collating his story as he sat down. He made sure to keep eye contact on her as he began speaking.

"My name is not Craig Atkins. It's Doctor Polanda. I'm a scientist. I was stationed at the Campbell military base. You know that place?"

"Yes." Strap as her eyes narrowed.

"As I said, I was a scientist there. I was working on a super soldier program with the zombie virus."

Cutter jumped from his corner. "He's fucking one of them! Fucking kill him!"

Strap grabbed him roughly by the collar and shaved him back into his corner. A cold look from her eyes quickly shut him up and she moved back to where she was. Her eyes narrowed further, but she maintained her decorum. "Did you have anything to do with the release of the zombie plague?"

"No. But as I said, I was working on it. I was supposed to be using it to develop super soldiers for the army. The main benefits were theorised to include increase strength, speed, endurance and healing ability. Soldiers would be harder to kill and better able to kill. However, I never believed in the program and secretly conducted other research."

"What kind of research?" Strap asked.

"I was working on a cure." Polanda lied.

"I don't believe you."

"I found it." Polanda lied again, having concluded long ago a vaccine or a cure was not feasible. The virus was simply too invasive.

"Bullshit."

"But that's why I'm here."

"What? To capture test subjects?"

"No. I was-."

"What, then?" Strap interrupted, agitated.

"I was banished and left to die out here. I've been disavowed for breaking orders."

Strap said nothing, sifting through her thoughts.

Cutter needed no such time. "He's lying, Strap." He said more calmly this time.

Polanda could see Strap was doubtful and continued. "I had an assistant who ratted me out. He was helping me, but I think he was a double agent meant to monitor me. When we made the breakthrough, he dobbed me in. The military doesn't want a cure. Or if it does, it wants to control who has it. They want to ensure the zombie plague kills off everybody so that they will be the only ones left to run the world when the plague runs its course."

"Did the US military create the plague?"

"Sort of. It already existed in a lesser form, but they engineered it to become what it is now."

"Did they release it as part of this plan?"

"No. I understand a bioterrorist group managed to get hold of it and released it. They were some sort of Jihad bullshit terrorist group who wanted to destroy America, but they didn't realise it would spread worldwide. They didn't realise how contagious it was and doomed the rest of the world too, including their own countries. So the release was earlier than expected, so the military enacted the plan in turn anyway."

"Goddamn." Strap whispered and Polanda knew despite the enormity of the story she was won over. Perhaps it was the very size of the idea that did so.

Even Cutter was silent.

"So how well does this cure work? Does it fix zombies?"

"No."

"So who does it fix?"

"People recently infected. People bitten, but still alive as well as those recently turned. The success rate isn't 100% though. As you could understand, I didn't get the time to refine it."

"But they could have since? They could be working on it right now?"

"Yes. I think they are."

'We need to get the cure."

Polanda was dumb struck. "What?"

Strap rose to her feet and clicked her fingers, still deep in thought. "We need to steal that cure."

"That's not possible."

"Why?" Strap was annoyed.

"No disrespect, but you're just kids and that base is shut tight and manned by largely special ops type soldiers. There're automatic sensors all around that base that will detect and kill you before you could get within a mile of that place."

"Could you get us in?"

"No. I'm blacklisted."

"We need to think of a plan. There must be some way in."

"Ask the new guy." Cutter suggested. "He's freaky smart."

"I dunno." Strap mumbled, seemingly torn.

"He could either get us in or do the job himself. You've seen what he can do."

Polanda was nervous. "Who are you talking about?"

Strap ignored him, but Cutter answered. "We don't know his name. He won't tell us."

"Go fetch him." Strap ordered and Cutter disappeared without question through the door.

"Shotty, ease up." The boy with the shotgun appeared so stunned by the story he hadn't maintained his bead on Polanda anyway.

Polanda had to diffuse the situation. He wanted to stay away from the base, not go back. He had to convince them it was impossible. "I told you, it's impossible. That place is designed to be impenetrable. It's all underground and there's only one way in or out and it's guarded like you wouldn't believe.

"Have you seen Terminator? They've got machine like that. I was a senior man, I've been involved in all sorts of things. You wouldn't believe what secret technology they've got in there. You'll all be cut to ribbons or captured and experimented on. That would be worse actually. Worse than death."

Polanda was about to ramble on whatever horrors he could think of to dissuade the girl, but Cutter returned with someone who made Polanda's blood turn to ice.

It was a man, and he walked with a lightness and serenity as though his feet didn't touch the floor. He entered the room and the light bulb overhead buzzed and fizzed. He turned and looked at Polanda and recognition was just as evident on his own face as Polanda's was.

It was Craig.

Strap saw the immediate change in demeanour in both of them. "Do you know each other?"

Polanda's heart burned and a million stones scratched and clogged his throat. He couldn't speak and he couldn't breathe.

Craig was not as he once was, but was not so much changed. In truth, the features of his face and frame appeared exactly the same, but his eyes seemed almost afire with some supreme confidence. But they also appeared distant as though only a portion of his attention was utilised in the present at any given time.

Craig maintained an unnerving, even stare and Polanda felt his headache return for an instant, like beetles burrowing through his skull. Sweat poured from his brow. He had told Craig that no cure existed on their brief trip on Air Force One. If Craig contradicted him or told them what he was really responsible for, he would be a dead man. Who knew what Craig had told them already?

"No." Craig said simply. "I have never met this man. However, this man speaks the truth. We must infiltrate this bunker and obtain this cure."


	57. Good 'ol friends

**Dead Opportunities: Book 3**

**Ride the Spiral to the End **

**Chapter 8: Good ol' times **

"Why did you cover for me in there?"

"…"

"Craig?"

"…"

Unsure what to say, Polanda kept his mouth shut for fear of offending and played with a tangle of grass by his feet.

Craig had rescued him from the children in the basement, but Polanda wanted to both understand why and what had happened to Craig since he broke free from the facility weeks ago. How had the virus affected him, what was he thinking, what had he been doing?

But most importantly, what was he intending to do?

They sat on the top of a small hill overlooking the valley around them that cut the town of Small Hope in half.

Small Hope was a brother town to Long Hope and served primarily as a tourist town for bushwalkers, hunters and fishermen for the nearby St Hugh mountain range. Currently enjoying the mild weather of spring, the snow caps on the mountain peaks had melted and sent torrents of the freshest water down into the valley floor. The scene was picturesque and for a moment Polanda forgot he was sitting next to a potential enemy.

The town clustered around a small plain at the base of the valley where it opened up into grasslands. Log cabins and modest brick homes dotted the landscape below in peaceful non-use. But Polanda could see movement down below in the near distance as odd bodies meandered through the dead town. Their awkward movements immediately gave them away as the abhorred monstrosities that were the undead plague, but from where he sat, they look like ants scurrying around a maze. A rat race.

And like any rat maze, there was always a morsel of food at the end of the twists and turns. But the current young residents that surrounded the hill side had the maze's exit barricaded closed, bottlenecking the undead into a pointless yearning for flesh that stood guard only metres out of reach.

Polanda couldn't help but admire the strategy employed to keep the undead out. Small Hope sprawled before them, but this protected oasis had been dubbed Keep Hope by the survivors. Sandwiched between the foot of the mountains at the bend of a large river, the Keep was protected from all sides by natural barricades.

The mountains behind were particularly steep and developed into sheer cliffs so that if any members of the undead approached from the top and wanted to descend into the Keep, they could do so only by what the children called "The Express", being an initial 100 foot fall and a long tumble down the rocky hillsides. Any zombie that attempted eventually made the descent in several pieces, cut apart by the combination of gravity and unyielding rocks cut sharp by ice, wind and rain.

The river that hugged the base of the mountain range bent away in a huge arc large enough for a substantial residence and farm to exist peacefully on flat fertile soil, washed in by the river that curved back in towards the mountain range again and flowed away into the short horizon. The river acted as a moat that was guaranteed to flow strongly enough all year round to sweep away any zombie that dared cross it.

A large stone bridge was the only way in or out and a huge gate of ornate iron, re-inforced with timber sleepers kept it comprehensively closed. The undead pounded uselessly against the obstacle, scrambling over themselves and inadvertently pushing each other over the side of the bridge into the torrent below to be swept away.

Polanda's head suddenly flashed in a spontaneous headache..

"Strap gave me the history of this place." Craig said suddenly, ignoring Polanda's discomfort. "It was the estate of a very wealthy banker from New York. He bought the land with the natural barriers in mind and built this huge place. He was a bit of a recluse apparently and loved getting away from the hustle and bustle of the city. He also liked keeping local townspeople away, whom he thought would try to rob him. Paranoid old man that he was."

The headache stopped as suddenly as it came. A rush of compensating endorphins made Polanda feel light headed and amiable.

Craig pointed behind them and Polanda turned to look.

The place Craig spoke of was a huge Victorian style mansion over three flights high. Polanda had walked out with Craig after the interrogation and was so engrossed by his company he forgot to look. Counting the basement and an attic nestled in the large spired roof, it was five floors high, but still looked small amongst the mountain backdrop. It was surrounded on all sides by gardens formerly grand and as ornate as the house. Now vegetable patches replaced roses, and numerous chickens and sheep wandered the grass. Gardens of vanity adapted for survival.

It was strange to look upon a place so beautiful in the new apocalypse. It seemed so out of place, especially to see young children playing outside.

That was also something that caused Polanda to pause and simply watch.

He had never wished for children, preferring the company and rewards of his research. His brother had three boys, but he never much liked their company. Used to assistants reacting within nanoseconds of being given orders, he felt frustrated by children who didn't do what they were told in the same manner. Much like nature, he gladly went without their company.

But nevertheless, the sight of a group of young kids, none older than ten, jumping rope and playing happily was both the most peaceful and sad thing in the world.

Polanda's head stung again.

"Wonderful to see isn't it?" Craig said. "I used to have kids, you know."

The pain lifted again.

"How old were they?" Polanda said, blinking away spots from his eyes.

"Can't quite remember to be honest. I never gave them the attention I should have. That goes for my wife as well. I suppose that's one of the reasons I loved Helen." Craig said calmly.

Polanda didn't know what to say, especially at the mention of Helen. Even if he did, another wave of paid in his head cut is short. It felt like hundreds of tiny sewing needles were dancing and scraping amongst each other and abruptly disappeared again.

Polanda's balance almost failed and Craig caught him with strong steady hands.

"You are wondering why your head hurts." Craig said simply.

"Yes." Polanda gasped.

_Because I'm reading it._ A voice echoed in Polanda's head, much like someone speaking directly into his ear, but Craig's mouth never moved. There was no mistaking it was his own voice. _It doesn't hurt you as much to hear me speak as it does to-_

"listen in." he finished orally.

Polanda's head swooned, but not from the pain this time. Craig let him go and sure enough Polanda landed on his behind in the grass staring up at him in disbelief.

_I'll keep communicating this way, so you'll get used to it. I need the practise as well. The more I practise, the less it will hurt and the further away I can talk to you. I would also like to experiment to see if you can somehow respond without me needing to read you._

"But-."_  
Try it._

Polanda didn't know what to think as Craig sat down opposite and looked him straight in the eyes. Polanda couldn't look away, somehow stuck fast by a depth both fascinating and terrifying in the black void of Craig's pupils.

Craig sat motionless as he waited politely for Polanda to process the revelation and gather his thoughts. He also waited for Polanda to choose.

Polanda couldn't help but smile suddenly as the confirmation of his achievement sank in. Before him sat the success he had worked so hard for and he laughed. The absurdity of their meeting and Craig's excessive cordiality added to the hysterics.

_Oi! Stop Laughing!_ Craig said

But it only made Polanda laugh all the more. He was too preoccupied struggling to breathe amidst the mirth that the children jumping rope were looking at him puzzled, their jump rope idle like a dead snake on the ground.

_SxTOxP IT NxOW!_

The voice rebounded and echoed within Polanda's mind with such force that it was half garbled like static on a stereo turned too loud. It didn't hurt, but rather was a shock. Strangely, although no conventional noise was emitted, Polanda's ears were ringing.

Polanda didn't feel like laughing anymore.

**Sorry.**

_Well done._

"What?" Polanda said, confused.

_You said 'sorry.'"_

"I did?"

_Yes._

"How?"

_I don't know. Do whatever you did before._

**Like-**

"this?"

Now they both laughed, both feeling like tourists fumbling dumbly through some foreign language.

**I THinK I'm GETTIng the hang of this.**

_Better. How does it feel?_

**Strange, yet-**

_Natural, somehow?_

**Yes.**

_I've been wondering about that. Come. Walk with me around the perimeter. I like walking._

**OK.**

And so they rose to their feet and proceeded down the hill to the river. The children picked their jump rope back up again and resumed their innocent play. Strap emerged from inside and stood on the front porch. Leaning idly against a pillar, she watched the two men walk along wondering to herself.

XX

**So what happened after you escaped?**

_I'm not entirely sure. My thoughts have been very messy and disorganised for a long time. I think the technical term is 'fucked up'._

**What do you mean?**

_I don't properly recall what happened. I can sort of recall your blue men chasing me in the sewers and the forest, but it's fragmented. Jumbled. I can remember though that at one point I got tired and sat down. That's when I calmed down and organised my head._

**What happened?**

_You know when you need to pee really badly and you don't know where the toilet is?_

**What?**

_Bear with me. You panic, right? You start doing that dance and your bladder is burning and your scared shitless of peeing your pants. Well I think me sitting down was the equivalent of my madness going to the toilet and being flushed away._

**Nice analogy.**

_I can project a mental image for you if you like._

**No thanks.**

_So then I started experimenting with my powers. I started testing them and practising._

**What kind of powers?**

Craig stopped and looked across the raging waters of the Hughes River. A lone zombie, the remnants of a middle aged woman in a dirty pair of pyjamas was eyeing them off form the opposite bank. It appeared to know the river was not crossable and simply stared at them.

Suddenly the woman bent backwards in a sickening crunch and exploded into a puff of red dust.

The little cloud left behind was taken up by the mountain breeze and sent away into the sky. All trace of her disappeared.

**Bloody hell!**

_Yes. Handy, no?_

**How do you do that?**

_I just will it to happen. I don't know how to explain it any better than that._

**What else can you do?**

Craig surged forward into a sprint along the river bank, leaving Polanda behind. He moved with inhuman speed, sending small puffs of dirt into the air with every step. A heavy stomp into the earth sent Craig sailing into the air, flying over the river clearing it 20 feet in the air. He soared with practised grace and landed lithely on the other bank near where the middle aged zombie woman had formerly stood.

Polanda nearly fell flat on his behind again and gasped as a zombie, having watched Craig ran towards him.

"Look out!" Polanda cried.

_I told you to talk like this._ Craig complained.

"But one's coming to get you!" Polanda cried again, pointing at the ragged creature scrambling towards Craig.

Craig turned casually towards the monster and it suddenly dissolved and fell to the earth like sand.

Craig jumped and soared once more over the river to land by Polanda's side.

_Impressive isn't it?_

**Damn straight.**

_**That's better.**_

**Does it tax you?**

_Yes. That's the drawback. It leaves me very tired and I can get nasty headaches. I also get very hungry and especially thirsty too. Speaking of which._ Craig bent down and scooped up handfuls of water from the stream.

They resumed walking by the river bank.

**So what do you want to know?**

_Well, there's not really anything I don't want to know. Those kids weren't patrolling near Long Hope by accident. I knew you were there. I directed them there as well, not that they knew I was doing so._

**Wow.**

_I also know right at this very moment where you blue soldiers are. Want to go find them?_

**I'm not sure I do. Can you handle them?**

_I think so._

**So you know there's no cure. You know I lied in there. Why did you tell them I spoke the truth?**

_The military's plan needs to be stopped. They don't know it, but I've been visiting them lately, sticking to the borders of their visibility and reading the soldiers' minds. They only know so much, though and I can't penetrate the bunker to read the minds of those inside. But what information I have managed to gather is that there's more to their grand plan than you know of._

**Why? What is it?**

_I'm not sure. That's why I want your help, and your blue soldiers' help to infiltrate the place and find out. And if necessary throw a spanner in the works._

**Sounds dangerous.**

_What happened to Helen?_

Polanda stopped mid stride.

**Didn't you read me already?**

_I can only read into a certain level of detail in such a short time, so I don't really know. There's a difference between a memory and a thought. Besides, I want you to volunteer the information and tell me. We need to trust each other._

**Well-**

Polanda continued walking as he pondered how best to answer the question.

Craig waited patiently.

**Helen is dead.**

_There's more to it than that._

**Yes, but-**

_Just tell me or you'll get one bastard of a headache._

**Fine. She is still dead, or was when I last saw her. She was in deep freeze. Her and the other two subjects.**

_Katey and Greg._

**That's their names?**

_Yes._

**Oh. Last I knew they were being put aside for experimentation on cellular recovery. We wanted to see if we could recover any still living cells and cultivate them. We wanted to see if we could get the subjects to grow back to life. That was the primary thought.**

_Who thought of that?_

**I did.**

_Thought so. And what's this 'we' business?_

**We?**

_Yes. You are not one of them anymore. You're on our team._

**Yes. I forgot. I'm sorry.**

'_s Alright._

**Well the man we need to get a hold of is Dodson. He was my assistant. I suspect he'll have taken over my research.**

_I see._

**So all we would need to do is get you close enough to him to read his mind?**

_**Sadly no. It seems our friends at the bunker became wise to my probing. From what I can tell, they've all been implanted with some sort of blocker that severely inhibits my efforts. I don't doubts this man Dodson will have one too. Perhaps a heavy duty implant.**_

**So what do we do?**

_Kidnap him, bring him back here and use good old fashioned torture._


End file.
